Outside in the hall, there’s a cat fight. It’s just after midnight. I guess I’ll be alright. I’m laid out on the floor, drunk and poor. How much longer? How much more?…Smoking out the window, feelin’ far away, news on the radio, Happy birthday! Happy birthday! Happy birthday! – Concrete Blonde
47 years ago today, I emerged from a vagina somewhere in Central New Jersey. I immediately began screaming bloody murder, which leads me to believe that I was pretty intuitive right outta the gate. From that moment on, I became a +1 on the census rolls and a few years later, I was given a nine digit number that allegedly makes me socially secure.
I grew up in the town of Sayreville, about six houses down from the Bongiovi family. Their eldest son, John, would later become Jon Bon Jovi. I would later become a busboy at the Rutgers Dining Hall. Everyone has a calling.
When I was in my 20s, I never expected to make it to my 30s. In my 30s, I was quite certain I wouldn’t reach 40. Now I’m all sober and boring and a tad more risk-averse than before and this makes me fear that I might just make it to my 90s. Thinking about that is both exhausting and terrifying. So I remind myself that I’m one of the few stubborn idiots that still smoke cigarettes and perhaps this carcinogenic habit will shave at least a little bit of time off of my golden (that’s “olden” with a compassionately placed “g”) years.
This is a rather pointless post, but since it’s my birthday, I’m not going to bother jazzing it up for content or readability. Recently, I noticed that on the bottom of older posts, WordPress provides a doohickey that says “Reblog”. I considered writing nothing today and instead, just going back to some nonsense I wrote a few months ago and hitting the Reblog button. But, of course, that would be the height of laziness and the pinnacle of arrogance. It’s like saying, “I know I’m not famous or even very good, but I posted this shit weeks ago and I don’t feel I was adequately complimented for its sheer brilliance, so here it is again. This time, read it carefully!” Have you ever tuned in to a new episode of your favorite TV show only to be treated to a few minutes of hackneyed dialogue from the main cast just to set up a bunch of clips from older episodes? It’s as if your favorite program suddenly decided to reward your loyalty with a big pile of dog shit wrapped in a bow. I’m talking about the Clip Show. Everybody hates the Clip Show. And I suspect that everybody would hate the Reblog just as much. The Clip Show is slightly more annoying than the Blooper Episode. I also thought about doing a Blooper Episode-inspired birthday post, but I don’t really think my typos are all that funny.
In lieu of anything worth reading from me, you can take a look at Maryellen’s art gallery exhibit page: https://ghostwolf.gallery/pages/maz-misc. She’s the other (nearly mute) Voice in this One Transmission. (Psst…Maryellen, know what I want for my birthday? For you to post your second ever contribution to our page. Don’t overthink it, just write it. Christ, look at the gibberish I churn out here every day. I don’t think I’ve set the bar too high.)
If you’re truly disappointed by this rambling birthday blather, please lower your expectations or just scroll down to February 3rd and re-read “Top 10 Paul Loughmans”. I typed my own name in that post a ridiculous number of times and therefore it reads like poetry. Paul Loughman. Say it loud, and there’s music playing. Say it soft, and it’s almost like praying.
Today is also Jerry Lewis’ birthday. And Flava Flav’s. I hope that puts to rest the whole astrology thing once and for all. If it doesn’t, I’d like to remain blissfully unaware of the traits I may share with those two fellow Pisceans. I have nothing else to say. Go eat some cake.