Choice is an illusion.

Illusion is a choice.

Worms! So that’s it!

I imagined my digestive tract full of tipsy little worms who drank my beer, wine, and whisky before my body could discover the alcohol. If it weren’t for those invertebrate little spongers, I’d probably notice the pleasant effects of adult beverages sooner than later in the evening.

And then I read the article and discovered that I probably don’t have freeloading worms after all. It turns out that some members of the C. elegans family have a mutated gene, sl0-1, that controls the flow of potassium ions that have something to do with how well neurons fire. Or not. Or something like that.

I don’t understand or care how my body functions; I’m just relieved to know that no greedy little worms are stealing my drinks.

That’s why I celebrate as many birthdays as possible. Just a few months ago I was twenty-five million minutes old, and today I’m celebrating twenty-five hundred weeks on this lovely planet, only one of which was spent in captivity.

This occasion calls for a party, so I’m off to find one.

I have a number of friends and associates who are somewhat dissatisfied because they’ll never fulfill their parents’ exhortations to do this, that, or some other thing. I feel fortunate to have had a father whose only request of me was to enjoy life.

No wonder it’s illegal. Conversely, that may be exactly why it’s so felicitous.

Nice!

I think that’s an entirely reasonable request; I’m happy to tell everything I know. And so it is that I will reveal that I employ the Japanese approach of always keeping my guests’ beer and wine glasses at least half full all night.

Hai!