70

My Dad turns 70 tomorrow ... but he looks like 97. Here's a picture of him standing, watching Pulp Fiction, smirking. Last year he was in the hospital in West Roxbury -- thinking he would die on Good Friday just like his mother did.

He used to carry a pile of envelopes around which contained ideas for a play he was writing called The Perpendiculars. His father was a dentist. I'm going to make a cake for his party in the morning: vanilla with chocolate frosting.