I'm watching a report on "60 Minutes" about a professor at Cambridge who thinks it will soon be possible for humans to live to 500 years, or even 1000. I don't know if it's because I just got back from Mexico and jet-lag is wreaking havoc on me, or if it's because it's 7 p.m. and I'm still in my pajamas, but the whole discussion makes me want to curl up in my bed and sleep.

I suppose we should never abandon science and pushing the limits -- What if Columbus, Newton, NASA had done that, blah blah blah -- but ... I don't really want to live to 1000. I know, I know. I'm a party-pooper.

The problem, as I see it, would be changing people's perspective on life and our expectations therein. I expect I'll feel blessed if I live to around 90 or 100. Given my grandfather's achievement of good health until he was about 93, I think I'd be pretty disappointed to fall short of that. But any longer? What would I find to do with myself? Think of the boredom that befalls me around 4 p.m. at work. I've finished my tasks and I'm just waiting to head home. What if, around age 245 or so, I take out my LIFE: To Do list: Kids - Check. Second home at the beach - Check. Successful career, early retirement - Check. Grandkids - Check. Find fulfilling volunteer opportunities - Check. Great-grandkids - Check. At what point are you allowed to say, "OK, I'm finished"?

Maybe someone who expects to live to the ripe old age of 874 will plan out things accordingly, postpone childbirth for a couple hundred years. But if, at 74 and standing on the golf course, I find out I've got almost a thousand more years to shave some strokes off my game, I might not be able to feign excitement.

In this case of stretching science to limits never before seen, you have to wonder if people will be able to stretch with it.