That's right, it's my muthatruckin birthday today. I have a little bit of time left where I'm technically still in my 20s until the 5:00 hour when thirty years ago I was forced out into this godforsaken world. That picture of me is one of my favorites because that was the last picture taken before I entered an awkward phase that continues to this day. And check out that t-shirt. Hip, my friends, totally hip.
So what are my plans for the big 3-0? Simple. Indian food and a bottle of Chimay Grande Reserve. It's my gift to myself not to do anything more than that.
So it might not be as exciting as:
--the water balloon toss at my 8th birthday party where the water balloons were shaken in a lewd manner (caught on video)
--the Putt-Putt party where I invited 15 kids which was probably about 14 too many
--12th birhday when I asked for and got a pogo-stick.
--17th or 18th birthday when I specifically requested pan-fried hotdogs and macaroni and cheese
--21st birthday spent in Madrid; went to a bullfight then had a party on the roof of the hostel until the police showed up
--22nd birthday where my ice cream cake was misspelled "Happy Brithday, James." My future Legal Counsel apologized, but I would probably not have remembered it otherwise (note: it was the guy at Friendly's who did the misspelling)
--25th birthday--tequila and a Hustler t-shirt. If you have to ask, please don't.
But this is exactly what I want. And it beats last year.
And Mr.Fitzgerald, I really would appreciate that indictment of Karl Rove today.