On the topic of longevity, Bill Maher opined, "Which would you rather have? 50 Sammy Davis Jr. years or 150 Ken Starr years?" Is that a question? Seriously? Sammy all the way, baby.

Much can be said about the attributes of clean and virtuous living. A long life is equated to the maintenance of moderation and careful measurement of excitement and caution. I applaud those who endeavor to be on this earth for a century. You're a better man (or woman) than me.

Once you get over 30, you will start to see physical changes. (Wait till 40. You'll need duct tape to keep your boobs upright). You'll have an epiphany and you will stare hard at that fork in the road and map your path. Will I be Sammy or Ken? If you decide to go to Pilates every day and use Pam cooking spray instead of olive oil and if green tea suits you better than a gin and tonic--then God bless you. Enjoy your long life.

If you go down Sammy's road, there is some good news. Despite your best intentions, as you age, it becomes challenging to exercise your bad habits with the gusto of your 20s. It's hard to finish that third martini. I really can't remember how to roll a joint. The only gymnastics I execute really well in the bedroom involve farting. And apple fritters just don't taste good with Heineken anymore.

Taking Sammy's path means more than vice, though. Sammy lived large, which included vice, but he also savored every moment here, even if the face of adversity. He had a short life, but a damned full one. So, from my way of thinking, what's the point of living a long life when it's dull? I think you have to grab each moment and live it with some noise. In the book "Auntie Mame," the character of Mame Dennis spouts one of my favorite lines of all time. She says, "Life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death."

So go out dancing all night. Smoke a Partegus if you want one. Have sex on a plane. Skip. Have a Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast at 3 am. Sing "Danke Schoen" on Karaoke night even if you suck. Wear a bikini if you want to. Learn to surf. Belch the alphabet. Break some rules and have some fun. Live.

All I know is that when the good Lord says, "We've had quite enough of you," I plan to go with my cheeks sore from laughing, my feet aching from dancing in bad footwear and my belly full of a platter of Carolina pulled pork. I will go smiling.