Birthdays. Huh. Not as much fun as they used to be. It’s hard to believe that about 25 years ago I was practically begging to be older. Kids are stupid.
Now I’m just trying to find a way to have the numbers in my age become legally reversed. Oh, to be 23 again. I’d be back in college. I’d have no worries, no responsibilities, no job…I could sit around all day just thinking about all the great things that I was going to do in the future.
Sure, that’s pretty much my life now, but 9 years ago I had an excuse.
So, yes, it’s my birthday today. Happy birthday to me. I’m really not all that bummed about it. Can’t say that I’ excited either. After 21 there are really no great birthdays to look forward to. Unless you’ve constantly dreamt of a career in politics. Or always thought that the term “octogenarian” sounded cool. (For the last couple years I’ve been a “Tricenarian.” Yes, it’s a real term)
Actually, it bothers me very little, my birthday. A lot of people freak out on every birthday after 30. Not me, pal. No way. Nuh-uh. I’m cool as a cucumber. An old, wrinkly cucumber.
But seriously, I’m breezy. They say that 32 is the new 23. Now if I could only get that statement authenticated and notarized, I’d have some legal leverage on my pending “age-number-reversal” case.
But birthdays are a time to reflect. I assume that’s why we celebrate them in the first place. That’s why we have to watch the numbers in our age flip over like the odometer on my old Ford Escort.
But this year, through some kind of subliminal trickery on my part, the numbers aren’t flipping. See, I’ve been 32 in my mind now for (I’m assuming) like the last 7 months. I’m serious. I completely forgot how old I was. Somewhere my brain got mixed up and ahead of itself. Probably because people would ask how old I was and it didn’t take long for “I’ll soon be turning 32” to become “I’m 32.”
It was an unbelievable relief to learn from Tanya the other day that I was only turning 32 this year instead of 33. In fact, just now, right before I wrote the last few paragraphs I checked for sure. I still didn’t believe her. But I got out my trusty calculator and did the math. As usual, Tanya was right. Although, this time I’m happy to admit it.
So now I must reflect, right? What is like to be 32? Well, I’ll tell you. The last 7 months have been alright, so I can say with almost certainty that it’s fine. What have I accomplished in my lifetime? Well, not much. Wrote some music, acted in some plays, met a wonderful girl, hung out a lot, wrote some stuff, had more than a few crappy jobs, had one or two really great jobs, bought a bunch of IKEA furniture…you know, the usual.
But really, what else is there? Money? I already have a crap-load of IKEA furniture. Fame? Got that. I’m like mad famous and crap. Power? Got that too. While Tanya’s at work, I’m totally that master of all my IKEA furniture.
Bow down to me birch veneered CD tower! You too, natural wood provincial style dining table with almost-matching, lightly-finished pine chairs!
So what more can I want out of life? Nothing. My life is pretty much complete. All I’ve ever wanted was to be happy…
To be happy and finish a screenplay…
To be happy, finish a screenplay and own a chafing dish…
And as of today, all I need to do is finish a screenplay.
Fun Fact: I once had a birthday in an actual train caboose. It was at a McDonalds in Tallahassee, Florida.
I was da’ pimp, baby.
Louis Armstrong’s birthday is today too. I wonder if he ever had his birthday in an actual train caboose at a McDonalds in Tallahassee, Florida? Probably not. But I don’t want to hold it over his head. He might feel bad. Besides, he accomplished a couple things in his lifetime.
But I still had my birthday in an actual train caboose at a McDonalds in Tallahassee, Florida. I’m not bragging. It's just that sometimes, in this game we call life, there has to be winners is all.