I recently turned 34 years old. That’s not a milestone age, but an associate from college sent me a text to say, “Happy birthday” and we wound up in a discussion about how we could no longer describe ourselves as being in our “early thirties.” It was now, sadly, more accurate to say “mid-thirties.”

Another drawback: I only have one more year in The Demo! The TV review page will be virtually useless! As opposed to right now, where the TV review page is practically useless.

In my defense, I don’t remember three months of when I was 33, so I feel like I should still be allowed to claim that age. Also, and because of sweet, nourishing alcohol instead of a car crash, I don’t remember much of college. In fact, my only recollection of the associate I was texting with is vague memories of us singing Jerry Reed songs together at karaoke bars in the lovely community of Muncie, Indiana. And he’s one of my closest associates!

When we add up the total of missing time, that makes me 29. Again, in my defense, I started losing my hair in college, so I really don’t look that much different.

Anyway, I spent my birthday doing what most men in their late 20’s do: gambling. Several associates and I went up to a casino in Oklahoma.

My beef with Oklahoma is you can’t shoot craps. Oklahoma considers blackjack a “game of skill,” but craps is a “game of chance.” Oklahoma has obviously never seen me play.

At the risk of editorializing, I’ll come out in defense of craps and why it should not only be legal in Texas, but encouraged at rehabilitation centers.

After my crash, a large group of therapists spent quite a bit of time helping me get back to the point where I could yammer on about how much I enjoy gambling. I feel like a great cognitive exercise is the arithmetic that’s required at a fast pace at the craps table.

Scenario:

[shake, shake, shake]

SHOOTER: Come on, you old so-and-so! We need a five!

[roll, the dice come out, showing 4 and 2]

CROUPIER THERAPIST: Lem, what’s the total?!

[Lem processes the information and then frowns]

LEM: Ah, soft six!

[Croupier Therapist rakes in Lem’s bet on the hard six. The money will go toward construction of a Therapy Roulette Wheel and maybe a Therapy Cantina. Croupier Therapist, enthusiastic about Lem’s cognitive progress, encourages him to place another bet on the hard six.]

Exeunt

It’s win-win! Except for Lem, of course. But he’s making progress: the hard-way bets are ridiculous ideas, anyway.

I think this can take cognitive therapy to a new level. You’re welcome for the idea, medical community.