“You don’t have much time!” According to whose timeline? Apparently that of the male director I worked with who felt the need to inform me of this. That big biological clock you see dangling from my neck ran out of batteries a long time ago; the rope from which it hangs has loosened its grip. I rock this clock for fashion, not function. And yet I still know what time it is. Stop clocking me. Other than air, food, and shelter, what’s good for you is not necessarily what’s good for me. Your life goals are not the same as mine. And in the immortal words of the poet Jay Z, what you eat don’t make me shit.