Editorial

Reflections on a Birthday

David A. Lombardo

Each year the last day of January marks the passing of yet another year of my life. While followers of my weekly rant may get the impression I'm a dour, morose, even sullen, curmudgeon and fatalist, the truth is I'm quite the opposite. I generally see the humor in the direst of circumstances and poke fun at myself far more often than at others. I must confess that I enjoy writing my rant of the week and frequently laugh out loud thinking about how one sentence or another will cause apoplexy in some liberal whack-job. 

While I am not one to place stock in astrology, I must fess up to being the quintessential Aquarian. Those that read cards, wear funny outfits and go to Star Trek conventions will tell you that Aquarians are quirky and unconventional. We "water carriers" are very free-spirited and given to a wide range of emotions. While typically intellectual, charming and well-behaved, though with an underlying irreverent sense of humor, we are for the most part concerned with the greater good. We tend to give far more than we receive and eschew ever asking others for anything, which explains my innate ability to be successful in almost everything I attempt while simultaneously managing to never make a dime doing it. I often lament that On Target Radio is the most successful economic failure in radio history.

Much to the chagrin of my financial advisors, I rarely miss an opportunity to take in money with the left hand and immediately give it to someone I think needs it more with the right. We meet often for lunch to talk about my financial future, and it is telling that, more often than not, they buy me lunch. I think it's because, despite their constant efforts to the contrary, in their hearts they know that my retirement will see me living in a cardboard box under some interstate overpass.

Aquarians are extremely friendly but always a mystery, with unpredictable responses and often complex personality types. We appear to be very easy-going, very pliable and willing to accommodate, yet there is always some line drawn in the sand based upon some principle we have that shocks people when they attempt to cross it and we bite their heads off. Aquarians don't often draw lines in the sand, but when we do, they are intractable.

Oh, yes, we also typically love to travel and are always ready for adventure. It explains two major facets of my life. I've gravitated toward traveling jobs and have amassed almost five million airlines miles in my three score and eight years on the planet. I have literally filled four passports with stamps from places such as Indonesia, Vietnam, Dubai, Thailand and Egypt. From the perspective of any normal, nine-to-five person, I appear to have career attention deficit disorder. I've dabbled in everything that's ever interested me, ranging from being a professional actor to a college professor, deputy sheriff and journalist, to name a very few. I think of myself as eclectic; my family thinks of me as the bum that can't hold a job.

None of this is to suggest that I'm complaining, but as I've grown long of tooth, I find myself reflecting upon the past and trying to make sense out of it. My name will be buried with me, never to adorn a skyscraper, bridge or city park, though a few members of the Aurora Sportsmen's Club Board of Directors have suggested upon my retirement as president naming an outhouse after me: Lombardo's Loo. Regardless, I have these twinges of guilt suggesting I've left nothing behind that makes the world a better place; I feel I've let down mankind in some horrible way. The thing is, I just don't feel that way for very long.

The problem is that, despite the reality that old age makes body parts that used to work no longer work and body parts that never did anything before start doing unpredictable things, Aquarians refuse to accept limitations. We're the golden retrievers of the human species; we find it difficult to dwell on the past and constantly wag our metaphorical tails, looking toward the horizon for our next adventure.

So tonight I'll finish my cigar, down the last vestige of a fine 30-year-old Glenfiddich Scotch and turn in for a few hours' sleep. In the morning I'll be back to normal, giving what little money and time I have to things I think are more important than me and looking for yet another adventure. Oh, yes, and the curmudgeon will be back next week with another dour, morose, sullen and fatalistic rant.