This month I turned 28. One year more than Janis Joplin, 4 less than Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. I feel a bit disappointed - outliving Janis Joplin, I mean. She's been sort of a role model for me - both in life and in death. She was like this big, sparkling flame. Gave all of herself completely and quickly and then went out in a blink of an eye. She shone so brightly that we were left blinded and by the time we recovered our sight, she was gone. Most of the time, when we construe oxymoronic phrases, we say "love to hate". With Janis it was the other way round - she was the girl you hate to love. It's even harder when you were born after she died. But that's my personal drama in many ways. I was born way after Che Guevara was murdered - and he's still the man of my life and one of the reason all my relationships are short-lived. I was born even longer after Marco Polo died - and, boy, wouldn't I give anything to cruise around the world with him?! To smooth things down a bit, one man that really makes my heart beat faster is still alive - but alas, he's gay. But he is still someone living and breathing at the same moment as I, which is a tremendous improvement of the situation. Anyway, I'm ranting. The problem is that I am 28 year old, one year more than Joplin and it's like crossing one of those imaginary barriers that we all build in our minds. Like landmarks - learning to walk and talk, going to school, losing your virginity, losing the divorce trial, losing the full use of your limbs and, for men, of "the little friend". I passed the Janis Joplin barrier and it left me a bit crestfallen and with the beginning of a wrinkle. I assume it will feel even worse passing the Hendrix and Morrison barrier. If you're all still around then and won't pretend you've never known me in the first place, I'll tell you exactly how it feels. After all, I would have loved to see Janis with wrinkles all over her face and cracking a joke at them in her unique style. And that's really the bottom line of all this ranting.