Coming to an end...

On the last day of my 77th year my thoughts, naturally, turn to comedy. Nothing is funnier than death, unless it's aging. Whether because the aged are a bigger demographic now, or because we're an amorphous target, I've noticed an increase in the cartoon-treatment of aging and death. The secret of the comic is that what makes us laugh is what we realize we all share. Death of course heads that list but, if you're lucky, aging is up there too. I'm lucky. Here I am, past the average for U.S. white males (a dwindling category, fortunately for our politics and improved gun-regulation) and still able to delight in swimming, biking, and running, not to mention reading, writing, and loving. "Count no man happy until the end," Aristotle advised, "because one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one fine day." But I'm close enough to the end to pronounce myself happy, whatever happens. I'm pleased, that is, with what I've done, what I can do, and sanguine about anything that can befall. I've got plans, of course, but I'm mindful that I have no future. Neither do you. One proof of this is the fact that bars which advertise "Free Beer Tomorrow" never have to give any away. Think about it. While you're doing that, keep in mind that it's all funny...