Our 17th year

It's Monday (March 3rd) where you are, but it's Wednesday (February 26th) where I am right now, suffering unbearable pain in my right hip. 

Just to get graphic, it's as if I had stepped on rusted piece of rebar and the pointy end is scraping the inside of the ball and socket joint, the largest weight bearing joint in the entire human body. 

With any luck and with the skillful gifted hands of Dr. Sassoon, the rebar will replaced with a shiny new and well lubricated titanium femur ball that will breathe new life into my walk. Who knows it might even resurrect my one time dream of becoming an NFL kicker. 

I'm coming after you Harrison Butker, with your stupid SteamPunk attire and even stupider visions of living in a Handmaid's Tale world.

With any more luck I will leave the outpatient surgical center on Friday -- which is/was -- my birthday and wake up to a full jar of Oxycodone or Percoset, to ease my way back into the world of the walking. 

And maybe writing.

Ms. Muse had asked what I planned to do RoundSeventeen-wise when I come out of the Propofol-induced dreamworld. She half-heartedly suggested I get some crazy blogging done before the serious business of convalescence begins.

Lost in all this bionic rebuilding of Rich, is the fact that this blog is celebrating an important anniversary. I've told this story before and with any luck and the proper recovery, I'll tell it again. Besides, there are close to 4000 posts here, if you don't like this one, spin the wheel of torture and find another.

It was 16 years ago that my friend and former boss Mark Monteiro (one of the best people from the ad industry) sent me a text suggesting I follow him into this new thing called blogging. 

"You seem to have a lot on your mind Rich, why not give voice to it? You know, other than meaningless commercials and ads no one will ever see or remember?"

Not sure anything written here has risen beyond any of my ad work, but it has served the purpose of making people laugh (OK, some people). And more importantly, given me a platform which may or may not have improved my writing but has certainly saved me thousands of dollars in therapy sessions.

With that, and because I have to get another ice pack to wedge between my torso and this flaming rebar jabbing me in my hip, I just want to thank the 8 loyal readers who have been here through the ups and downs. As well as the newcomers who might have stumbled onto these digital pages and thought, "He's no George Tannenbaum."

Now if you'll excuse me, Dr. Sassoon (related to the hair styling empire, BTW) says I need to get one of those reachy/grabby things...

God, I'm old.