Here it is, 'cause I’m supposed to be sharing this stuff with someone in an effort not to be like the Paternal Unit (who denies any interest and, if it were possible, belief in birthdays and other celebrations of human existence) and well, I guess this is the forum for it. It’s definitely mundane and pointless.
I wake up at 06:30ish and spend the next hour and a half hiding under the covers in a vain attempt to return to the blessful oblivion of sleep. Finally the yellow face achieves sufficient angle to blast its Hyper-Photonic Anti-Tenebrosity Somnolence Disruptor Ray into my bedroom window. I get up, go to the bathroom, shower but do not shave while contemplating my achievements of the past year; namely, that my telomeres have grown shorter, my reading list has gotten longer, and I have failed to win the Nobel Prize for Physics, write the Great American Novel, or commence on a successful date with a female member of the human species. (Not counting the couple of awkward and fruitless coffee dates.) On the other hand, I’m still alive, I haven’t yet been RIFed or had my employer go out of business, and its a lovely 73 degrees under a cloudless sky in Southern California, so things could be worse.
I throw on shorts, shirt, and shoes, and go for a run (the first since my cold cum respertory infection in November); west to Arroyo Seco, under the bridge, north to the Rose Bowl, and run out of steam halfway up the aggressive hill behind the Aquatic Center. I jog/walk/crawl back home, shower off, get dressed, and find a voice mail from pseudo-sister Katie who thought my birthday was yesterday and was relieved not to have missed it. I call her back and she tells me about the weather (12" of snow in Milwaukee), the gallery opening her friend had (good), and the drive to O’Hare (slow).
I then walk up to Old Town for breakfast/lunch at my favorite pub. All the waitresses stop by the bar at some point and say hi, as usual. I consider mentioning offhand that it’s my birthday but don’t want to be the kind of pathetic loser who has to solicit adulation from semi-strangers, so I just eat my lunch and surprise the bartender by not ordering my usual Black and Tan (selecting Beck’s Dark, Hoegarten, and Red Stripe instead) and get through two chapters of “Cryptonomicon”.
Then I head over to the One Colorado Cinema and take in a film (In Good Company, extremely cliched but good performances by Dennis Quaid and Topher Grace, and I am enthralled by the always radiant Scarlett Johanssen, even if she is a blonde.) After that, I say hi to Hugh the Coyote and cross the street to Miller Alley, then down the stairs to Jakes, where I knock some balls around the felt for a while then sit at the bar and enjoy a Jamison, neat, and read two more chapters of “Cryptonomicon” while enduring people who feel it necessary to scream at the football game (Steelers vs. the Patriots, I think.) The bartender (Hi, Rach!) is enthralled as usual with my rolling a quarter through my fingers as I read. I find out Johnny Carson died; this weighs heavily, another thing to have on my conscience. If it’d had been Ed McMann, or Letterman or Leno…but no, it had to be Johnny. Damn.
Then it’s back home past some kind of goings on at the Convention Center, wok up some veggie stir-fry on top of yesterday’s wild rice, and light a fire and enjoy some Ghirardelli cocoa and (crap, no Irish whisky and no peppermint schnapps in the liquor cabinet) while checking the boards and listening to Kind Of Blue. Next, I’ll sit down and trying to get through another chapter of “The Sportswriter” if I don’t get too irritated, then maybe Dennett’s “Freedom Evolves” or more of “Cryptonomicon” with some Louis in the background. Maybe I’ll get the gumption to try to get Yellow Dog running on the G4; more likely I’ll just go to bed.
Overall rating: 6 out of 10 melted birthday candles; or better than a sharp stick in the eye but not so good as a naked Julianne Moore at the front door**.
Well, I did warn you that it was Most Definitely Mundane and Pointless. Caveat empetor and all that latin jazz.
Stranger
