The way you make me feel

It's been a tragic day. First Farrah and then Michael Jackson. Not a great time for those who've had excessive plastic surgery.

I barely remember when Farrah was on "Charlie's Angels," but I'm pretty sure my brother had that famous poster on his wall. You know the one... red one-piece swimsuit... obviously cold.

I do, however, remember vividly when Michael Jackson used to be cool. Back when he was still black and had a normal nose. Before he started naming all of his kids "Michael" and covering their faces with veils. Before Neverland and the creepy fixation with little boys.

My first album was "Thriller." It was a 33 LP, and I listened to it on my Donny & Marie record player. I remember staying up to watch "Friday Night Videos" to catch "Beat It." That seems so weird now, when we can watch anything on iTunes and YouTube. Of course, I also used to keep a cassette recorder by the radio in case they played a song I liked, so that I could tape it. Now, if I think of a song I'd like to listen to, I fork over 99 cents and voila, I own it. And there's no DJ talking over the beginning of it.

It's weird how much has happened in the past four decades. 37 years ago tonight, a crazy man was loose in the small town of Hartford, and my mom was in labor.

I'm really tired and ready for bed, but trying to enjoy my last few hours of being 36. I'm not quite sure why I feel so old this year. Perhaps it's because I hang out with 20-somethings. Or maybe because I'm dating men who have grandkids. More likely, it's because I remember record players and rotary phones and Michael Jackson before he was a freak.

The good news of the day? Had to buy smaller jeans for the big party tomorrow night. Yay me!