Days Of Old... older, now.
So, the other day, last weekish sometime, was my birthday. Once again, SO OLD!
Birthdays are good. They give you an excuse to eat crazy stuff and goof off more than usual. I suppose in my case every day is like a birthday... but that's beside the point. The birthday gives you a chance to go really crazy. Crazy enough to eat something Jurassic in scale.
perkyczarlet had been quite vocal in recent months over the opening of a Dinosaur Barbecue in the Upper West Side, codename: Harlem. And I had to admit to myself, I have never eaten a dinosaur, much less a barbecued dinosaur. The potential for exciting new foodstuff was immense.
Perhaps my expectations were a little high.
Nonetheless, Dinosaur Barbecue, despite the deception in their name, served some absolutely delicious food of the tremendomeatatarian variety. Mmmmm, ribs. Dripping with sauce. Falling off the bone! Also, the mac&cheese was so good, I had two. Mmm, cheese.
It was nice having dinner with, for the most part, an array of folks whom I've known for over a decade. Sixteen years, in the case of angledge and vulgarbarbarian. That's a long time. vulgarbarian was kind enough to be older than me, so that I wouldn't have to be the oldest person at the table. Good man. Granted, the two of us were also more often than not mesmerized by our waitress's tattoo, which was very... strategically placed and visible quite frequently. I believe the correct word is "titillating".
Dinner was followed up by a bit of goofing off at Dave & Busters, also relatively new to the isle of Manhattan. This was good mostly for the purpose of shooting zombies and aliens and criminals with big plastic guns. Most impressive was the game where the console sensed your body motions and positions, so that as you physically ducked and leaned, your game character also would move accordingly. That was interesting. And then there was the game where you were a polar bear hitting fish with a club. You think I'm making this up. I assure you, I am not.
Dave and Busters could have been larger, but in Manhattan, floor space is at a premium, so you make do. In this case, we made do at the bar. Margaritas for Cinco De Mayo; it's only proper. And then more drinking. Sweet tasty alcohol, you make aging so much better.
Finally, a week later, the National Chorale was putting on Beethoven's 9th in Lincoln Center. This is always a good thing, despite them having a horrible website. Nothing gets the blood circulating like a choir belting out Ode To Joy in a nice concert hall. Mmmmm... energizing. I might even get a season ticket for the next season there. Crazy... and cultured! katieledge enjoyed the show, although she was unimpressed with the dresses that the singers were wearing. Especially that bright pink monstrosity. Ow, my eyes...
So... is a birthday really all that important? It's just a day, like any other. After all, technically, we get older every day. My 36th year is the same as my 13,149th day. OH SHIT I'M 13,149 DAYS OLD! Yeah, exactly. It's no big spiel.
Does it have to do with receiving phat lewt? Of course not. This isn't Christmas, after all. ;-) Material goods are of no concern. Folks got me food and drinks, and I can't ask for much more than that.
Ah! That's where I'm wrong. You know what makes a birthday, and any other day, grand? Good company. Old friends. New friends. People to spend some time with, people whose company you can enjoy. I was lucky enough to have a fine crowd to join up with, and if cholesterol and sugar and alcohol don't kill me in the next 360 days, I hope to join up with them again.
An interesting addition to this is that, a few weeks back, I went to my 18th high school reunion. Yes, 18, because they didn't get around to a 10 or 15 year reunion, so they decided to have a "Midlife Reunion", gathering at about twice the age we were when we graduated high school. I'll give points for cleverness there. Anyway, the point is, high school. Not a high point in my overall memory bank, but one of my inherent flaws is morbid curiosity. Who would show up to such a thing? What would they be like? A priceless opportunity for observation, compounded with an open bar, made the answer clear. I would go.
And what I learned is, time does change all things. About a third of the graduating class showed up, curiously enough. I had been in regular contact with exactly one person in all that time, a friend of mine since kindergarten (yes, that's thirty years ago, if you're counting). And I re-met a bunch of other people that I obviously haven't seen in 18 years. And you know something? It was good. They're all older, mostly settled down with spouses and offspring. Some are even in New York. Everyone was civilized, friendly, interested and interesting. A lot of stories and memories were shared, and it was good.
I, apparently, have changed a lot; quite a few people said they would never have recognized me. I'm not sure how valid that is; I couldn't recognize squat. I'm terrible with faces, and eighteen years distant memory wasn't helping either. But that's not really important.
I came out of there with a few reforged friendships and a few positive memories, as well as a few resurrected memories that had passed out of my consciousness. It was a positive thing, and I do not regret going. And that surprises even me.
And in summary, because I can't leave a serious post without cracking at least one joke...
Birthdays are good. They give you an excuse to eat crazy stuff and goof off more than usual. I suppose in my case every day is like a birthday... but that's beside the point. The birthday gives you a chance to go really crazy. Crazy enough to eat something Jurassic in scale.
perkyczarlet had been quite vocal in recent months over the opening of a Dinosaur Barbecue in the Upper West Side, codename: Harlem. And I had to admit to myself, I have never eaten a dinosaur, much less a barbecued dinosaur. The potential for exciting new foodstuff was immense.
Perhaps my expectations were a little high.
Nonetheless, Dinosaur Barbecue, despite the deception in their name, served some absolutely delicious food of the tremendomeatatarian variety. Mmmmm, ribs. Dripping with sauce. Falling off the bone! Also, the mac&cheese was so good, I had two. Mmm, cheese.
It was nice having dinner with, for the most part, an array of folks whom I've known for over a decade. Sixteen years, in the case of angledge and vulgarbarbarian. That's a long time. vulgarbarian was kind enough to be older than me, so that I wouldn't have to be the oldest person at the table. Good man. Granted, the two of us were also more often than not mesmerized by our waitress's tattoo, which was very... strategically placed and visible quite frequently. I believe the correct word is "titillating".
Dinner was followed up by a bit of goofing off at Dave & Busters, also relatively new to the isle of Manhattan. This was good mostly for the purpose of shooting zombies and aliens and criminals with big plastic guns. Most impressive was the game where the console sensed your body motions and positions, so that as you physically ducked and leaned, your game character also would move accordingly. That was interesting. And then there was the game where you were a polar bear hitting fish with a club. You think I'm making this up. I assure you, I am not.
Dave and Busters could have been larger, but in Manhattan, floor space is at a premium, so you make do. In this case, we made do at the bar. Margaritas for Cinco De Mayo; it's only proper. And then more drinking. Sweet tasty alcohol, you make aging so much better.
Finally, a week later, the National Chorale was putting on Beethoven's 9th in Lincoln Center. This is always a good thing, despite them having a horrible website. Nothing gets the blood circulating like a choir belting out Ode To Joy in a nice concert hall. Mmmmm... energizing. I might even get a season ticket for the next season there. Crazy... and cultured! katieledge enjoyed the show, although she was unimpressed with the dresses that the singers were wearing. Especially that bright pink monstrosity. Ow, my eyes...
So... is a birthday really all that important? It's just a day, like any other. After all, technically, we get older every day. My 36th year is the same as my 13,149th day. OH SHIT I'M 13,149 DAYS OLD! Yeah, exactly. It's no big spiel.
Does it have to do with receiving phat lewt? Of course not. This isn't Christmas, after all. ;-) Material goods are of no concern. Folks got me food and drinks, and I can't ask for much more than that.
Ah! That's where I'm wrong. You know what makes a birthday, and any other day, grand? Good company. Old friends. New friends. People to spend some time with, people whose company you can enjoy. I was lucky enough to have a fine crowd to join up with, and if cholesterol and sugar and alcohol don't kill me in the next 360 days, I hope to join up with them again.
An interesting addition to this is that, a few weeks back, I went to my 18th high school reunion. Yes, 18, because they didn't get around to a 10 or 15 year reunion, so they decided to have a "Midlife Reunion", gathering at about twice the age we were when we graduated high school. I'll give points for cleverness there. Anyway, the point is, high school. Not a high point in my overall memory bank, but one of my inherent flaws is morbid curiosity. Who would show up to such a thing? What would they be like? A priceless opportunity for observation, compounded with an open bar, made the answer clear. I would go.
And what I learned is, time does change all things. About a third of the graduating class showed up, curiously enough. I had been in regular contact with exactly one person in all that time, a friend of mine since kindergarten (yes, that's thirty years ago, if you're counting). And I re-met a bunch of other people that I obviously haven't seen in 18 years. And you know something? It was good. They're all older, mostly settled down with spouses and offspring. Some are even in New York. Everyone was civilized, friendly, interested and interesting. A lot of stories and memories were shared, and it was good.
I, apparently, have changed a lot; quite a few people said they would never have recognized me. I'm not sure how valid that is; I couldn't recognize squat. I'm terrible with faces, and eighteen years distant memory wasn't helping either. But that's not really important.
I came out of there with a few reforged friendships and a few positive memories, as well as a few resurrected memories that had passed out of my consciousness. It was a positive thing, and I do not regret going. And that surprises even me.
And in summary, because I can't leave a serious post without cracking at least one joke...