As you read this, I am sequestered deep, deep in the autumn-flecked woods of Michigan ( Yes, Michigan! ) turning 35. I secured a quaint lakeside cottage in which to lapse into geriatric stupor. Seriously, I am NOT one of those fags that gets all twisted up by age; I have earned each and every one of these 35 years. Why, as you can see from the overwhelming amount of coverage I have put together for this issue, I may just be up to 38 or so by now.
So you will give me a pass as I reflect upon my young life and shorten this week's column. I promise to re-emerge from my bucolic splendor bursting with insight and bon mots.
I will be back for Halloween, so if I see you, you are SO getting an embarrassing picture taken of you. I'll never be too old for that.
kirk@windycitymediagroup.com
