Saturday, February 03, 2007
Another Year...
I turn 29 tomorrow (and not that fake kind of 29 that is just 30 in denial), but since it will also be the day that the Bears are in the Super Bowl for the first time in two decades, no one will probably much care. I'm still fairly excited, though, because I intend to get incredibly wasted, eat tacos from the tiny, greasy restaurant under the train, and ask a lot of stupid questions about football. It stands to be good times, though.
Birthdays for me have generally been pretty amazing, except for my first year of law school when people were too busy stealing my torts books and trying to destroy me academically to throw me much of a party. When I was a kid, I always got a party at Scottie's Skateland, which involved a lot of cake and generally the receipt of a number of fine Transformers. When they finally told me I was too old to ride around in the giant skate, my friends and I switched to slightly more sophisticated pursuits like sneaking into an R-rated movie or drinking a bottle of Pucker on the sly in my basement. When I turned 21, I tried to see how many bottles of Boone's I could drink in fifteen minutes. It turns out that even a single bottle of Boone's is in fact far, far too many.
The best birthday of all, though, has to be my third year of law school, when Roommate Liz threw me a surprise party in which the "surprise" aspect was manifested entirely through her producing a cake from the closet and informing me that it was, in fact, a surprise party for me. Our group of friends was already sitting around her living room playing cards and talking, and my birthday had in fact passed about a week before. But her calm, clear conviction that a surprise party was taking place was quite convincing. I found that I was, in fact, terribly surprised. To this day I still check the closet for a cake every chance I get.
I turn 29 tomorrow (and not that fake kind of 29 that is just 30 in denial), but since it will also be the day that the Bears are in the Super Bowl for the first time in two decades, no one will probably much care. I'm still fairly excited, though, because I intend to get incredibly wasted, eat tacos from the tiny, greasy restaurant under the train, and ask a lot of stupid questions about football. It stands to be good times, though.
Birthdays for me have generally been pretty amazing, except for my first year of law school when people were too busy stealing my torts books and trying to destroy me academically to throw me much of a party. When I was a kid, I always got a party at Scottie's Skateland, which involved a lot of cake and generally the receipt of a number of fine Transformers. When they finally told me I was too old to ride around in the giant skate, my friends and I switched to slightly more sophisticated pursuits like sneaking into an R-rated movie or drinking a bottle of Pucker on the sly in my basement. When I turned 21, I tried to see how many bottles of Boone's I could drink in fifteen minutes. It turns out that even a single bottle of Boone's is in fact far, far too many.
The best birthday of all, though, has to be my third year of law school, when Roommate Liz threw me a surprise party in which the "surprise" aspect was manifested entirely through her producing a cake from the closet and informing me that it was, in fact, a surprise party for me. Our group of friends was already sitting around her living room playing cards and talking, and my birthday had in fact passed about a week before. But her calm, clear conviction that a surprise party was taking place was quite convincing. I found that I was, in fact, terribly surprised. To this day I still check the closet for a cake every chance I get.
