In a day highlighted by international complaining and weeping I will turn 62 on June 15.  One of my fellow baby boomers was feeling immortal one day and claimed 60 was the new 40. That statement was clearly insane.  Let me assure you 62 is the new 190.  Nevertheless, I continue the relentless hunt for Indian blankets and a quality urologist.

Why does anybody become a urologist? Did I not hang out with the right kids? Because as I recall none of them were that interested in urine. At what point does a young man or woman choose to make human liquid waste their life’s work?  “Let’s see…I’ll become a doctor…yeah, maybe a great heart specialist….nope, I’ve gotta go with urine!”

I seem to have wandered a bit off-topic.  Focus, Barry! Verily, let the news ring out to every corner of blanketdom.  Birthday Boy’s choice for Blanket Of The Month is an extremely odd, yet very appealing shawl that is unlabeled, but I believe to be a 1920’s Oregon City.  Ordinarily I am a condition freak, but I have owned this blanket for close to ten years despite it having thin spots and even a few holes. Why would I do such a thing? Because it is the only example of the pattern I have ever seen and unlike Dane Cook it makes me laugh.

It’s a very happy looking blanket and let’s face it, when you start applying human emotions to an Indian blanket isn’t it time to be institutionalized? This is what I mean about turning 62. Next month I may be talking about dancing the rhumba with a blanket or inviting one to a romantic dinner. It’s very hard to watch myself mentally deteriorate like this, but it could be worse.  I could be a urologist.