Searching the World Wide Web for “the luckiest generation in history” one quickly learns that it is definitely the babyboomers. Born between 1946 and 1964, they have dodged World War II. So far, they have dodged World War III, as well. Conceived in August 1945 and born in April 1946, I am among the oldest babyboomers on offer. A year short of eighty, I am also in reasonably good shape still. According to the web one more time, there are more than a billion babyboomers around the world, but less than a half of them living in Europe and North America can be considered lucky for true. And I am squarely among them. Now, how does it feel to be as lucky as I happen to be? Not to beat around the bush, I am far from over the moon. Although I am happy not to have witnessed any wars yet, let alone wars engulfing the world entire, I do not feel lucky at all. Far from it. For humans are humans and nothing but humans even without a trace of war. The best I can do under the circumstances is to feel kind of sorry for all the other generations in history, and especially for those that could be considered as least lucky of all, like that of my parents, who have witnessed both World War I and II before the age of forty. But all that I could offer them by means of consolation is my reserve regarding luck. To wit, fuck luck. And especially the greatest one in all of history, of course. At its best, luck is for the birds.