A Tale of Two Spidies

(That's "Spy-deeze," as in Spiderman's nickname.)

See, here's the thing; I love my blog readers, I love you blog writers out there ... but sometimes, (with apologies to Myrow and Gordon):

You make me feel so old;
You make me feel un-apropos;
And every time you start to blog,
I get brain fog, just like a dying dog.

I'm not one of those bloggers who feels pressed to confess my real name, my weight, my children's names, etc., etc., but I will admit that I'm no spring chicken, so would you do me a favor and stop freaking out that you're turning 30? OK? Is it too much to ask--even of a pipsqueak whose mother's milk is still wet on his lips because he is, in case I forgot, due to my impending Alzheimer's Disease--about to turn 30???

Thank you.

So, because I'm not going to upload a scan of my driver's license, here is the proof, if any is needed, that I am not Generation X or Y or Z or even Generation A-prime. I'm a baby-boomer. I didn't watch this on Saturday morning; I watched this.

Mine is the first, the original Spiderman--not that other one, and certainly not the live-action ones starring what's-his-name--you know--that whippersnapper who probably isn't even 30 yet either.

p.s. For you Ramones fans--I didn't watch this one either. But I would have liked it. I like this one, too.