Ive recently had a birthday and, as to be expected, it was a brutal reminder of my age. But it was also a reminder of quality over quantity, and how our perceptions of the world change and become more refined as we accrue age
At least I think that's the pearl of wisdom I clung onto as I played first chair tuba in the Atlanta porcelain orchestra. The morning after was like being mauled by a gang of diseased midget vomit monsters, who concentrated their attacks on the stomach or brain. Also my left butt cheek was suspiciously numb but I've decided not to look into it.
So maybe I don't now what the hell I'm talking about but I do know that the older you get the harder it is to hold your liquor, in your stomach, and not feel like the mechanical losing end of a fat lesbian rodeo party. But I do know I love my friends for putting up with me.
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