As I get older (37 in a month! Uh . . . say, holy fuck!), I cannot help but notice certain changes going on with my body. Nothing big, really, just . . . well, the inevitable little breakdowns that come with the territory.

My left knee, for instance. I noticed some discomfort this weekend; a slight niggling ache that wouldn't quite go away or quiet down. I've done nothing to my knowledge to maltreat the knee. It just sort of hurts in this naggy way that makes me shift my legs around a lot, irritably.

Which doesn't help the bladder thing. I mean, not to get gross or anything, but after a few hours of this restless diddling around with my legs, all of a sudden, BANG! And I've really, really gotta go! So then I have to run--well, hobble, really--to the bathroom to empty my suddenly wheezing bladder, and that's just a real drag, especially when I don't make it. It's not just the pants, okay? I've ruined more socks, and the uric acid or ammonia or whatever is seriously corroding the shit out of my shoes.

But you know, it's all part of the aging process. I try not to get to worked up. It happens to everyone, I suppose, so I try and remain sanguine about, say, the incredible patches of wiry hairs erupting from my back, and nose, and, in one memorable instance, my earlobe ("Hello, ear hair! Whatcha knowin'? I see you're white and ya need some mowin'!"). It was five inches long or so and made me feel like God's neglected marionette. At least I retain my scalp hair, and it shows no signs of leaving me. Unlike the hair on my scrotum, which has all mysteriously fallen out--it's not pretty. I know now why evolution gave us scrotum hair: it's so we don't have to see our scrotums. Mine now looks like an old calfskin change purse with two weary riverstones inside. Weirdly, the "upstairs" pubic hair remains! I don't understand it, but it is worrying and weird. I try to cope by drawing a Gabe Kaplan face on my scrote and then doing Mr. Kotter impressions in the mirror. It's pretty cool, except that Mr. Kotter has a dick coming out of his forehead, which . . . I guess it's not that cool.

Look, I don't want to make a big deal out of all this. Even as a kid, I had some health issues, so it's not like I'm not used to taking care of myself. Childhood allergies I learned to treat with a simple oral nicotine delivery regimen, and that still works today. And I take that same can-do attitude with me with today's challenges. The knee, for example? Again, a simple treatment program consisting of regular ethanol ingestion seems to clear the pain right up. One just has to be careful to have the stuff on hand whenever you need it, so I have supplies at home, at work, and inside a special bus side panel that I pried open one morning on my commute. Hey, riders of #7, third seat down on the left! Don't snag my meds!

So really, I'm doing all right. Sure, some of my meds give me side effects. The ethanol is a good example. It's a lifesaver for the knee pain, but it also regularly causes dozophilia and tripsomania--the latter of which is a form of motor neuralgia that often can result in brainobonkia and unintended hilarity. As it turns out, actually, my brainobonkia has--this is hilarious, sort of--I've done a fair amount of damage to a portion of my brain called Wernicke's area that occasionally results in a phenomenon known as aphasia, which is really just a fancy word for the ape rice dialectic. I told the wife about this, and we had a laugh, and I told her, "I know! Here comes the ass circus, with the towels! You ate my lute." Then she poured us some more ethanol, saying, "This will help us both." I don't know what I'd do without her.

Look, I think I'm really pretty lucky. I'm not crippled like those sad fuckers who can't chew or stuff. I'm not playing for the Florida Marlins. I'm just a guy with weird hair issues who falls down a lot. Yeah, sometimes my knee hurts, and sometimes I get this stuff on my back that's like floss, and sometimes I just fall down on my Wernicke's area and I hate that because of the soup attacks, and the White Shadow.

And I can live with that.