While driving on an errand, I heard a radio DJ — do they still call them that? — talking about boomers. “Boomers hate the word seniors and are out to change it,” she said. “Sorry, boomers, but you can’t. You must own what you are.”

I laughed. I’m a boomer. “Sorry, sugar,” I answered the radio. “I’m a boomer. I don’t need to do anything. I can make up and apply terms and use them as I want. Says so on the net. Just ask Trump. He’s always making things up.” Of course, Trump makes things up in a bad way. I think I do it in a good way.

For the record, I’m not a senior. Nor do I ‘age’. I’m leveling up, as in a video or internet game. The higher your level, the rarer and more special you are. I think this works, as it aligns with some thinking that reality might be a cosmic video game, a simulacrum.

For the record, I’ve at level 69. Mom celebrates level 90 next month and Dad celebrates level 93.