The bash goes on . . . and on . . . and on . . .
As for being 60, I'm not there yet, so I can't presume to know for certain what it will be like. But I'm only seven years behind Mr. Clinton, and I'd have to admit that, laying aside the intractable and unrelenting family crises I have to deal with -- which in no way are the natural or inevitable consequence of aging -- there are quite a few things I enjoy about being in my fifties, so I have reason to think I might actually enjoy hitting the big six-oh as well. True, I don't have the physical strength or endurance I had, say, 20 years ago, and nowadays arthritis is cramping my style just a bit. However, on the other hand, an admitted lack of common sense has created a lot of unnecessary problems for me throughout my life, but now I've lived long enough and had enough life experience to enable me to claim at least a modicum of it. And to look back on it, the decade of my 20s now seems kind of strange, erratic, and dysfunctional to me. Who would ever want to go through such a time again? Perhaps Mr. Clinton would like to, which would help explain why he hates being 60.