Tuesday, June 17, 2008

one score and seven years

Mah birfday was today. Some things others have accomplished by age 27 (from this site)

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. dropped out from his job at General Electric to become a full-time writer.

Henry David Thoreau went off for two years to live alone in a cabin at Walden Pond.

Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin became the first person in space.

Memphis millionaire Frederic W. Smith, whose father built the Greyhound bus system, founded Federal Express.

Scottish botanist David Douglas discovered the Douglas fir.

Ernest Hemingway published his first novel, The Sun Also Rises.

Boston dentist William Morton pioneered modern anaesthesiology after learning that inhalation of ether will cause a loss of consciousness.

Jimi Hendrix choked to death on his own vomit after ingesting wine and sleeping pills.

Janis Joplin died of an overdose of whiskey and heroin.

Conceptual artist Piero Manzoni crapped in 90 small cans which were then factory sealed and offered for sale at the price of gold.

Bob K., first degree murder, in prison for life with no chance of parole.

Jessica Schram trolled MySpace for seven straight hours during work.
My humble goal for the year is to outlive a few music legends who kicked off this spinning rock at 27, their deaths due to the discharge of needles or firearms into body parts. Note to self: lay off the big H and the guns.

I don't make a big wahooey out of birthdays. I'm not even going to invite you out to drink at a bar, not because I don't like you, but because then you might feel obligated to buy me a birthday drink. I'll have none of it. Buy me a drink for no reason on some other date. Cake is okay. But not ice cream cake. Worst birthday present I ever got? A cassette copy of Phil Collins' No Jacket Required. It wasn't even a purchased cassette -- it was a copy of a purchased cassette. My eleventh birthday. I forget who gave me that. One of my "friends."

A scheduling shuffle left me with the day off. My plan to wake up at a decent time was thwarted by the impulse to hit the snooze button in 9 minute increments for 3 hours instead of turning off the alarm. It isn't even easy to hit my snooze button since the snooze bar broke off months ago. I have to stick my pinkie in this little hole that will one day electrocute me, preferably on a work day so I don't have to go to work. Today was not nearly as eventful as my 10th birthday where I had to sleep on the floor UNDER a bed in an Amtrak sleeper, or even my 21st birthday where I found the only bar in West Virginia that closed before midnight. They wouldn't sell me a beer on the knife-edge of turning twenty-one because I looked twelve.

Having the day to myself was celebration enough. I did some weekday grocery shopping, loitered at the coffee dive, typed words into sentences. Pretty much like any old day, which is just fine with me.