Speaking seriously with young (two thirds my age) Douglas about life and death, I said, "I wonder when I will begin to feel old? Really, to do all the things I want to do in this life, I need to live another sixty-five years...My intention, when I die, is to remember all that I am and ever have been, and to reincarnate, say, several hundred years hence, when the perfection of cosmetic surgery and anti-agathic medicine will make it possible to live for millennia as a twenty-three year old...." I did not further burden my interlocutor with the full extent of my plans for that distant but diamond-clear future, but I will here state that my twin goals in that life will be (1) to explore the universe, and (2) to re-create the lost works of Boccherini, Albinoni, and, of course, Mozart (or to supply, in the latter case, some of what we might suppose him to have written had he lived to be as old as his friend Haydn); and I expect to accomplish these goals simply and essentially by near-light-speed inter-stellar space travel--accelerating to mid-trajectory, and decelerating the rest of the way; in a judicious and careful manner seeking novelty, while not losing touch with the humanist civilization of which I intend (as I do in this life) to be the representative exemplar and original source. What else, I figure, do we have to contribute to galactic civilization (than art, music, ethics, and comedy)?