POSTS
Birthday Party
Blog
The League, apparently up a bit earlier than I was today (quelle surprise), has already noted that we had a little shin-dig up at Manuel’s north last night in observation of my foray into that strange world known as the thirties.
I have always felt that 25 would be the best age, this came from analyzing aging from two extreme poles.
In junior high school I thought that there were a lot of silly rules ( no sideburns, must be clean shaven, couldn’t say damn ) and silly wastes of time ( my math education ). I saw no reason for this to end before 18 and graduation.
I then extrapolated what I knew about college and thought that it amounted to more school, but in a better environment. But every college person I had ever met had told me that they were poor. To my early teen mind this “poor thing” was “the sucks” ( I didn’t realize that it would invite a certain cleverness which would actually be part of the charm ) so I figured you’d want to be out of school a bit.
Based on these lower bounds, 25 seemed like the winner.
Being a child of the 80’s, and particularly 80’s television, I had a distinct aversion to ever becoming 30. That aversion was created by thirtysomething.
I know you’re asking, “What the hell was a ten-year-old doing watching that show?” I have no explanation, why I wasn’t watching “Moonlighting” baffles me as well.
It appeared to me that when people became thirtysomething they became really, really whiny. To me, the details of their lives that they spent so much time whining over were all so tiny and obvious. I couldn’t believe that people had so much angst over being a married / a parent / having to go to work / should they boink the secretary, etc. I remember distinctly thinking for a bunch of grown-ups you’re incredibly juvenile and irresponsible and….something else
The word that I was bereft of at the time that I have now is this: self-indulgent.
I have always tried, or at the very least since I read Nietzsche or Kierkergaard, to try to live a responsible life. One where when you eff it up, you own up. When you commit, you deliver. Why you buy-in you go all-in. And lives of thirtysomething seemed painfully irresponsible and undercommitted.
Oh yeah, and whiny.
Realizing I was about to cross out of the target zone, I was thinking that I would just slip over the threshold, but to my great surprise Lauren cajoled and pushed, with some help from my sister, to get my agreement to do a bit of a festive something. While Thursday night was a special night fo’ jus’ me and my lay-day ( Brick Oven dinner, etc. ), Saturday was for my friends and I.
The Social Bobcats drove the not-inconsiderable drive up from Houston to have a lunch with us. It was really great, they ran over to Rudy’s BBQ and brought back a big white bag full of MEAT and sweet tea. It was really nice to share a leisurely meal of Texas BBQ before a bit of Wii-sports.
I hope the Social B’s get a Wii for their new home. It’s da shizit.
Yesterday evening I had the great pleasure of meeting my sister, her husband, The Leagues of Melbotises, composor/musician/linguist/and master of Unicode characters Trevor, and the family of my co-worker Forrest. About 10 people and I all had the chance to ring in my thirtieth at Manuel’s North. I had the chile relleno del mar ( as suggested by my brother-in-law ) and the desert of postre de cacao.
I must add, Forrest’s kid has a face for commercials and so much personality. I must say having his baby-teeth smile and peals of laughter was a really special addition.
Afterwards those without a young one in tow retired back chez nous for some wine / hard likker and conversation. The topics ranged from Spanish customs, to Galician Celts, to “WTF happened to public commons in Europe / Austin”. It was enjoyable, festive, and thoroughly enlivening.