1943

All of us born in that year are now, officially, old. At least in our own minds. (My mom, who's pushing 90, says she thinks of us sixty-somethings as young.)

But we're not. Something's changed. That's why it hurts extra-much to watch Mick Jagger prancing around at the Super Bowl. We know he must feel sheepish about it. Somewhere in his mind he's saying, Jeez, Mick, you're sixty fucking two years old. It's cool that you're still skinny and you can still shake your booty, but the 20 somethings in the audience aren't getting all gooey inside the way they did when you were 22.

But like everyone else born in 1943, you've gone from being a sexual potentate to a sexual inconsequent. And if you're like Mick Jagger that must be the biggest blow of all.