Today is my father's 70th birthday.
My own next birthday is a week away; this year I will be the same age as Jesus was when he went through his half-day ordeal chronicled by Mel Gibson.
I just looked at the Death Clock, and it says that the best guess as to when I am going to die is Christmas Day, 2043. All these different ways my life and that of Christ seem to be converging lately; maybe that explains the stigmata I woke up with this morning.
Now I've played around with the Death Clock settings and I've learned only get an extra year if I ever get back on the Diet Train and ride it to its moderation-destination.
Meanwhile, I gain seven years and four-and-a-half months of life by being a non-smoker. Interestingly, this is exactly the same amount of life that I lost getting my Ph.D..