Double-Nickel
I’m too old for a paper route, too young for Social Security, and too tired for an affair.
Erma Bombeck
“Fifty-Five is getting up there, Little Brother,” greeted Robo at 5:30am Wednesday morning, wishing me a Happy Birthday as only you’d expect from a long-time friend and business partner. Little did he know that I had been up since 2:00am, spending the first few hours of my birthday watching infomercials pitching vacuums cleaners and Viagra. I made a mental note to ask The Pretty Blonde which one she’d want for her birthday.
Now before you go saying, “Age is just a number,” and all that other blah, blah, blah, let me begin by saying I feel great and am in no way feeling down and dumpy about hitting the geological speed limit. To be honest, I’m proud of reaching double-nickels, and I hope I’ve ripped the faces off of all those finger-waggers who got long the Geiger 55 Puts back when I had a bottomless expense account. I drank a lot of water then, too. If you don’t believe me, just ask my liver.
I spent the day working orders and preparing for the Penserra Securities Open House Party, an afternoon celebration of our firm’s reemergence on the Orinda business scene. In between hitting bids and talking tacos, I began to mentally ask myself the same question that pops up every September10th; “How the heck did I get here?” So just for fun, I decided to examine where I was every time the calendar turned the last number of my age from a 4 to a 5.
Five (1964)- Sharing a bedroom in a Glendale, CA apartment with my brothers Mike and Nelson, I was about to begin a two-year program to earn my Master’s Degree in Kindergarten. Yes, two-years. Finger-painting was brutal.
Fifteen (1974)- I had just moved back to California from Chicago three months earlier. I knew no one, and I had just started classes at Carmel High, my tenth school in eight years. Mom and I celebrated by going to dinner at Sambo’s Restaurant. Politically correct hadn’t been invented yet.
Twenty-five (1984)- I was about to begin a two-year program to earn my Master’s Degree in Business Administration at Dartmouth College. I had come a long way from flunking finger-painting. I celebrated by sharing with my Tuck School Buddies the box of birthday brownies shipped to me by my newly-minted fiancé, The Pretty Blonde. She also sent along a cassette tape of some of my favorite music. Who didn’t like Duran Duran?
Thirty-five (1994)- With a brand-new mortgage and two kids under the age of three, The Pretty Blonde and I splurged on a birthday babysitter and ventured out for dinner and a movie. I voted for Pulp Fiction, but she wanted to see Four Weddings and a Funeral. Guess who won that battle? At least I got to pick the restaurant; Sizzler. All-You-Can-Eat are the four greatest words ever invented.
Forty-five (2004)- Cash-rich and mortgage-free, I rented a limo and treated ten family members to steaks and lobster at Morton’s. “Next year,” said my brother Steve, “you’re taking us to Hawaii for your birthday.” Within a few short years I’d lose half my net worth, and half my family would lose my phone number. Funny how that happens.
Fifty-five (2014)- Ross called from Boston and Keith called from Pittsburgh. The Pretty Blonde sent me flowers at work, made my favorite brownies, and gave me a Kindle gift card. She later put a candle on a bowl of ice cream and sang Happy Birthday. I was in bed by eight o’clock. Birthday celebrations don’t get any better than this.
Anyone know where the Geiger 60 Puts are trading?