Gaius Julius Caesar
On this day 2,049 years ago, G. Julius Caesar, dictator of Rome, was assassinated by a group of ambitious senators. Life is a fleeting thing; even the most freakishly long-lived humans will only life 120 or 130 years. Even today, surrounded by medical marvels and technological terrors, the average lifespan is less than 80 years. Yes, the spirit lives forever, either in the torturous flames of Hell or, after a varyingly brief layover in Purgatory, in the unimaginable bliss of Heaven, but that is a pahse of life no one who has not yet shed this mortal coil can truly understand. So, life is a fleeting thing; fame more fleeting still. Shakespeare helped quite a bit, but one must still marvel at the accomplishments of Julius Caesar that his legend still flourishes over 2,000 years after his death. And we remember the exact day he died. It's a hell of a thing. Hail Caesar!

So Very, Very Old
I am not bragging, not (this time) boasting of my moral supremacy, this is just how the story begins: I went to confession today, and had a very odd time. Admittedly, I had not been to confession since I was confirmed in eighth grade, but it was not the unfamiliarity that struck me as odd. I sat down across from Father Bill and he tried to guess some of the details of my life. I was nervous; check. I had been Catholic for a long time; check, since baptism. I had not been to confession in a very long time; check, see above. So, I started cataloging my myriad sins. At this point, Father guessed my age. "You're in your thirties...." WHAT?! I'm twenty-five, motherfucker! In my thirties? My older sister isn't even thirty yet! What in the high holy hell?

Seriously, folks, aside from the fact that most of you know me, how old do you think I am? If you didn't know me and hadn't just read that I'm twenty-five. I mean, yeah, I'm fat and my fellow Blue Tree Whackers and I had joked for a long time that I have the body of a forty-seven year old, but what the hell? Am I right in thinking Father Bill must be on something? I was wearing blue jeans and my Chuck Taylors, and had the sleeves of my fleece pushed up, partially exposing my tattoo. If anything, I thought the problem was that I dressed too "young." In my thirties?! I'm not the only one who thinks that was an odd guess, right? Right?