Somebody on the twitters called me “hip” the other day.* Can confirm.
The view is different when you’re looking over your shoulder than ahead of you, but imagine your brilliant self plus experience. As they say, if I only knew then what I know now.
*Then again, another person on the twitters called me “a fucking asshole” to keep me humble.
Discover more from Simple Justice
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Does this mean that today is your 60th birthday? If so, Happy Birthday!
Thanks, but no happy birthdays. I gave that up decades ago.
Doom and gloom and dark despair
People dying everywhere
On your birthday (THUMP!)
Happy birthday (THUMP!)
May the candles on your cake
Burn like cities in your wake
On your birthday (THUMP!)
Happy birthday (THUMP!)
(If your’re not familiar with the tune, it’s the Volga Boatmen’s song. There’s a couple of hundred more verses. These are the two cleanest.)
Can’t you be a hip asshole? I know I am.
Happy 75th birthday, BTW.
I could be, but I’m too modest to say so.
If a considerably older guy may offer a thought:
As the mother of one of my death row clients once told me after asking how her son was doing, “Kids.”
Celebrate away, Scott. You’ll always be the younger generation to us codgers.
Are you going to lord this over me forever?
Wow. You’re even older than my brother, so that must make Gamso…
I’m out of fingers and toes. Happy birthday, anyway.
I appreciate your keeping your pants on. Thank you.
SHG,
“Chanteuse” is such a lovely word. In these rude times, there is also a nostalgic poignancy to it. You are certainly hip but in an old-fashioned way.
Thanks for this.
All the best.
RGK
I used the word “brassiere” the other day while folding the wash, only to get a blank stare from my daughter. She’s an ingenue.
It’s time for a trip to Marfa, Scott — because your age still is lower than the speed limit in West Texas.
Felicidades,
Kathryn
I was told I’m not allowed to die until I visit Marfa. Ima live forever!!!
(My son and I, driving through North Texas in the middle of the night, were doing about 120 in the Prius, confident that you and Alex would come to bail us out if necessary. Bennett, who knows?)
Whoa, only four more years until your Beatles birthday. That one was an eye opener for me.
Happy Birthday, you young thing.
An eye opener? Interesting choice of words.
You’re a fucking hip asshole. You’re a hip fucking asshole. I’m saying it out loud over and over. Which one sounds better? I guess the latter maybe, right?
Six of one, etc.
If everyone “knew then what I know now”, neither one of us could pay our mortgage, lol.
Happy Birthday, my friend, many more!
But they were simpler (and a lot more fun) times. Thanks, PMS.
Dear Papa,
If only. Not knowing things is scary, but apparently it never ends. Have a great day, Pops. Sorry I couldn’t be there this year.
Much love,
PK
Thanks, PK, but nothing to be scared about. Learning goes on your whole life, and it’s wonderful. We’ll miss you. You sent a card, right?
#MeTooOld
But I try to keep myself in shape.
If only The Bonnet made caramel sauce I’d send you a jar. Happy Birthday. Many more we hope.
So you’re an Arie?. No Wonder! Fruitcake.
We got you beat, by a *country mile*.
You wanna die young,… go to law school and become a laaaawyer.
Good luck with that proposition, sub lima, with prejudice, par excellence.
Most people say happy birthday. But you, Bill, are not most people. That’s why we love you.
Bill may not be most people, but he is many people.
Better call Wol!
HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA
BTHUTHDY.
Fubar is having a Tequila Sunrise, sine qua non. Will somebody please tell him all-caps ARE verboten?
Luv we don’t need, $s we need. Just hit the Contribute button. You know, the Net is neither neutral nor free. It goes to the highest bidder, just like our courts. Ha. [This being a law blog.] What’s Wol anyhow? Did you leave off the “f”. Just askin’. Pink Floyd: The Wol!?!
SHG, happy belated returns.
B.B., you need to brush up on your A.A. (Milne).
You are too kind. No really.
Well done, o aged one. Now get agin’.
They tell me 60 is the new 30. God, I hope not.
In my yoot, a common expression was “Never trust anyone over 30.”
I’ve long since modded that: “Never trust anyone under 50.”
Belated birthday wishes, Scott. Hope it was a good one.
I woke up that morning. That was good.
Please excuse this late addition, as I’m just catching up on roughly the last two weeks. I find I have less free time in semi-retirement than when I had full-time responsibilities.
A belated happy 60th! … And welcome to the ‘old fart’ club!
Any day now you should be receiving your invitation to join the AARP, if you haven’t already.
And if Dr. SJ hasn’t already given you a referral to a good Urologist, I have a few names of some excellent practitioners.
Free, unsolicited advice: Go easy on the glazed, bacon-maple donuts.
Just a quick observation: You’ve definitely mellowed over the last year or so. I hope you aren’t on the way to being fully ‘absorbed’ by the pod-people.
Looking forward to many more years of SJ!
All the best.
P.S. Thanks for your note on the Tigano case. I wasn’t expecting a reply. But it was much appreciated.
Mellowed? No way! I started getting the AARP stuff when I hit 50. Eventually they stopped. I was a bad use of stamps.
Your might want to reconsider. At my Dunkin Donuts, the AARP card is good for a free donut with any size coffee.
It doesn’t take long to make back the cost of membership.
Would it surprise you to learn that I don’t go to DD nearly as much as I should?
Of course you don’t. You don’t have the incentive of free donuts.