Spoiler Alert: Whining Ahead!!
It's eleven days to my 52nd birthday, and let me tell you...I have that familiar gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.
MySpace has already taken to posting my age as 52 in my profile; an event that has left me surprisingly less than happy. I mean, it's alright if I pre-date myself. I've done that for the past six months, telling anyone who asked that I am 52. It helps me prepare for the actuality of it. But to have an internet juggernaut do it for you, well....feh.
I'm just not feeling it this year. Wait, I'm going to consult my blog archives and see how I felt last year. Okay, I'm back! In 2005, I didn't even blog about the birthday itself, but I can see that we went to Keen's (a huge surprise, right?) and clearly, I was equally as non-celebratory as I am this year. In fact, I posted a blog entry entitled Pink Moon, after the Nick Drake song of the same name. Definitely not a good sign.
Surprisingly, I'm really not any more downbeat than usual, all things considered. It's been a tough month, so far. Our friend Richard passed away on October 1st, and then I found out that my dear friend Arthur had died in San Francisco on the same day. Both had been sick for some time, but each man made an accelerated exit. Tim had known Richard for the better part of a decade, and Arthur's been my friend since Hector was a pup. I've blogged about Arthur in the past here and here. Both represented a tie with the past that has now been almost completely severed. It looks like I'm it. Swell.
I have managed to keep my head above it all by keeping very busy at work, and then writing at night. I enjoy the exercise this blog has afforded me, and I'm seeing if I can actually parlay my scribbles into something a bit more tangible.
So...don't cry for me...I will no doubt go out on the eve of my, um, big day and have a nice dinner, receive some of nifty gifts and get drunk. My actual birthday's on Sunday. If you know me, you'll know where to find me. How grim can that be? We'll see!
Lastly, a style tip for those entering their 52nd year:
Never, ever let anyone point a digital camera equipped with flash within a foot of your face after you've spent an afternoon slamming beer with the boys in Brooklyn, then returning to Manhattan and making an ill-advised switch to bourbon. The results are unsettling, to say the least. You won't see them here.