Soundtrack: The Polyphonic Spree, “Light and Day”
Whoa, put away the black balloons, the “Old Fart” t-shirts and mock gifts of Geritol and Depends. I’m only thirty-nine today, not forty. But it means that I’m starting my fortieth year, because when I was born thirty-nine years ago today, I was starting my first year, not my zeroeth year.
Actually I turn forty on 07/07/07, which is wild because I was also born on the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of the seventh decade at 9:11 a.m. No joke. (That year was actually 1967, not 1977–remember that funny thing about the number zero again?) So yeah, I have a thing for sevens, but to the best of my knowledge I’m not mentioned in any prophecy (unlike my next-door neighbor, “Number 6”). If there’s a mark on my forehead, it’s probably a zit.
Time Magazine had an issue dated the day that I was born that had a special feature on “The Hippies,” complete with a psychedelic looking cover and lots of colorful photos inside of people with flowers in their hair. Some people might insist that this explains a few things about me.
Lots of interesting people were born in 1967. There were a heck of a lot of musicians that represent a musical tour through the 90’s–starting with Kurt Cobain, Liz Phair, Billy Corgan and Dave Mathews, but also both Miki Berenyi and Emma Anderson of Lush, Harry Connick Jr., Sarah Cracknell of Saint Etienne, Evan Dando of the Lemonheads, Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots, and so many more it would take too long to list. Other 1967 celebs include Julia Roberts, Will Ferrell, Jamie Foxx, and Pamela Anderson. As for July 7th birthdays, we include Ringo Starr, Michelle Kwan, Marc Chagall, Robert Heinlein, and Shelley Duvall. But not George W. Bush—that was yesterday (remember my neighbor “Number 6” again?).
I’ll probably find out more celeb birthdays when some of my housemates, friends and I go to the Nitty Gritty tonight. If you live in Madison, you can’t say you’ve lived unless you’ve had a Nitty Gritty birthday. For you non-Madisonians, Nitty Gritty is a bar near me that has marketed itself as the “birthday bar” for decades, and while I’ve considered the notion cheesy, it gets people in the door. They will announce people’s birthdays periodically and, well, announce people’s birthdays. Oh, and ring a bell. I think I get something for free, too, but I can’t remember what it is.
I’ve always had mixed feelings about getting attention on my birthday—I want it and then again I don’t. When someone says “Happy Birthday,” I cringe, and when they don’t, I’m like “Hey, hello, don’t you know I’m here?” What I like the best about birthdays is an excuse for getting together with friends, having a few drinks and having some fun. I’ll be having that tonight, so that makes me happy.
This will also be my last post for a little while, unless I find an Internet connection somewhere on the road. Tomorrow I am going down to Chicago to help my father with last-minute arrangements for my parents’ move to Albuquerque, then I’ll be going up to Minneapolis and Fargo to visit friends. Ta-ta for now.
