A walk around Calistoga this morning. Coffee. Ibuprofen. Attempts at removing this ax I have lodged in the middle of my forehead. You see, turning Fifty only happens once every Fifty years: Best celebrated with a couple of good friends at a classy Inn while drinking a few wheat ales washed down with single malt Scotch. The good stuff.
Fun. But I'm happy turning Fifty only happens once. At least no ribs were broken during the celebration.