Turning 50, and not too thrilled? Here's a little poem that was sent to me that might help. Hey! It can't hurt! by, John E. Pichione Whoever conceived, from out of what head, Decreed or believed or invented or said, "A year is three hundred and sixty five days," Defying the system of metrical ways? Numbers this whacky, we must re-define, 'Cause a THOUSAND days makes a year's design! So a year extended to kilodays Preserves our age in a youthful phase. If "mind over matter" needs some persuasion, Let algebra prove it with this equation: Behold how digits can be so sage If "X" = 50, the rest's in array, It follows then, that "A" as in Age, Is but 18.2 years young today! Yes, Time still flies on wings as swifty, But not for you when you reach fifty, The tick-tock-tick's then slower tolled, And you're "recalendarized" to 18 years old! So rejoice in this date as all your friends cheer, You're younger now than you were last year! CLICK TO PASS ON!