I write this because I expected this golf tournament to be on the same weekend as my birthday, as it was last year. Apparently this is not the case, as the U.S. Open (not to be confused with The Open, which commonly refers to the British counterpart) instead goes off next week.
So instead of watching golf I decided to blog. A fair substitute? No. I'd actually equate it to wanting to go to Las Vegas and settling for Reno, expecting to see Magnolia and watching the Santa Clause 2, or salivating over fresh crab and instead receiving fried flounder. I could go on, but I will spare you my mundane attempts at humorous analogies. Wait...
It's like getting tickets for some kind of other wordly reality bending comedy show featuring Richard Pryor, Jerry Seinfeld, young Eddie Murphy (back when he was offensive and edgy), and Mitch Hedburg and instead finding yourself front row for a three hour set by Caroline Rhea, Brad Garrett, Dennis Miller, and Joy Behar, with nothing to drink but bottles of O'Douls. Normally you'd expect to see Tom Arnold included in a joke like that, but far too many hacks have been saved at the expense of the boisterous legend from Iowa.
At any rate, I was never able to muster up much excitement for my birthday, as I always felt the expectations were just too high, and there was this constant underlying pressure all day to have fun and deal with an inappropriate amount of attention placed on me. It just always seemed sofake; why would kids make fun of me most of the year and then decide to act nice on a single day? Sympathy? I'd rather them have just let me alone. Besides, being that my brithday is June 13th, I usually was in school for the event, but it was late in the year so no one really cared and sometimes I even missed out on the free pencil. Still it was nice that it was almost exactly 6 months from Christmas, but now that I don't get worked up about presents, it seems like it pops up from the abyss. Fortunately, my last couple birthdays have been pretty sweet, thanks to a couple awesome people and the discovery of whiskey. A fair punishment for me subjecting the reader to this well intentioned presentation of continuous verbosity is that my birthday slowly wittles away, while I remain shirtless, sober, and unshowered.
The title of this post is somewhat related to a sentence or two of the nonsense I spewed early on, as I believe it my duty to tell the world of the foursome that went off at Bethpage Black (the golf course hosting the U.S. Open this year) a couple days ago. A formidable contingent of Michael Jordan, Justin Timberlake, Ben Roethlisberger, and Larry Giebelhausen each shot respective scores of 86, 88, 81, and 101, on the par 72 course in a celebrity and probably gambling filled warm up to next week's second major of the year.
I hope that the three-headed combination of iced coffee, writing, and not playing internet poker while bring some peace to my day, as I turn a very un-notorious 24 years old. Still, somewhat like the last 2 or 3 years, I am filled more than anything else by a sense of serenity, fueled solely by the fact that I have lived another year in this universe, and thus experienced that many more minutes of life, something not everyone on this planet is so lucky to do. It is not pride that makes me happy, nor a sense of achievement, nor is it true that I haven't wasted much of the time I've been alive on complete silliness. It is the simple and yet all too complex fact that I'm still here, that I still have the opportunity to attempt all the wonderous things there are to do in this world, that makes me feel good. It's a feeling that doesn't usually last very long for me, but it's pretty sweet when it's around.
With that being said, I cannot achieve true contentment without having one question unmistakeably answered.
Hottie or Nottie? This guy:
1 comment:
Nottie.
Happy birthday!
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