you're the birthday, you're the birthday, you're the birthday boy or girl!
So tomorrow is my birthday. I share it with Ben Jonson, Ye Malum Matrem-Facior, which is cool, a remark I feel I can make here although people elsewhere laugh at me for using "Ben Jonson" and "cool" in the same sentence. Hell with them! Ben WAS cool. He pistolwhipped John Marston with MARSTON'S OWN PISTOL. Which he bought FOR PROTECTION FROM BEN. Because Ben was YMMF.
(NB: I do not endorse handgun usage or pistolwhipping of people, but it's okay if it was four hundred years ago and makes for an entertaining anecdote.
Anyway. I am twenty-nine tomorrow, or actually today in about five minutes, which is a little silly because that's the age people say they are when they wish to be ironic, but it is, in fact, my real age. I suppose I should angst about feeling old, but I only do that in years when I am turning an even number. I did see an "I Remember Reagan" bumper sticker on the way home from campus today, which made me go "Of course you do, stupid person, unless you're under -- " and then I felt a bit superannuated when I realized you'd have to be at least 25 to actually remember Reagan. (I myself vividly remember cheering on Walter Mondale in 1984 because he had a female running mate. I was unusually politically aware for a kindergartner. I also learned about political disappointment at an early age.) Obviously the person with the bumpersticker was much older than that because there are probably very few mid-twentysomethings who are nostalgic for the Reagan years except insofar as we all have days when we would like to return to kindergarten.
What this post was really about, though, is about the automated email birthday greetings I have been getting from sundry internet fora wishing me a happy birthday, even though I have not visited any of them in years, usually because either I lost interest in the topic or the people were wanky or the wankiness of the people caused me to lose interest. It is always a little disconcerting to get those. However, this is an extremely rambly post, and I am sure readers of this lj will know that I have always been like that.
Also I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time.
(NB: I do not endorse handgun usage or pistolwhipping of people, but it's okay if it was four hundred years ago and makes for an entertaining anecdote.
Anyway. I am twenty-nine tomorrow, or actually today in about five minutes, which is a little silly because that's the age people say they are when they wish to be ironic, but it is, in fact, my real age. I suppose I should angst about feeling old, but I only do that in years when I am turning an even number. I did see an "I Remember Reagan" bumper sticker on the way home from campus today, which made me go "Of course you do, stupid person, unless you're under -- " and then I felt a bit superannuated when I realized you'd have to be at least 25 to actually remember Reagan. (I myself vividly remember cheering on Walter Mondale in 1984 because he had a female running mate. I was unusually politically aware for a kindergartner. I also learned about political disappointment at an early age.) Obviously the person with the bumpersticker was much older than that because there are probably very few mid-twentysomethings who are nostalgic for the Reagan years except insofar as we all have days when we would like to return to kindergarten.
What this post was really about, though, is about the automated email birthday greetings I have been getting from sundry internet fora wishing me a happy birthday, even though I have not visited any of them in years, usually because either I lost interest in the topic or the people were wanky or the wankiness of the people caused me to lose interest. It is always a little disconcerting to get those. However, this is an extremely rambly post, and I am sure readers of this lj will know that I have always been like that.
Also I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time.