Happy Birthday to Me
Today I am 25. I am a quarter-of-a-century old. At my age, F. Scott Fitzgerald had published "This Side of Paradise" two years prior. I've barely managed to get a few poorly-written articles on the now-discarded pages of a few SLC-based rags. (Think I could have crammed a few more meaningless-but-slightly-annoying modifiers in that sentence?) There is little evidence that things will change by the time I hit the monumental and eye-opening two six. People say 40's the stinker, but to me turning 26 without publishing a masterpiece is monumental a sign that youre a loser as getting a swirlee on the first day of junior high. Maybe I should just stick my head in the shitter now, plunge it in there deep and see what my brown mop catches on it's way in, around and out. It's all about the journey after all, isn't it?
Speaking of journeys, last night I put together a list of the 25 people who have had the greatest influence on my life to date. I made the list and invented a project to complete before this date next year. I want to write an essay, story, poem or dance choreography that defines my experiences with these 25 fabulous people. I will post them on this site and send a printed version to those who made the list. I'm sure the list will change before I finish it so I don't want to post it right now.
Once again, Happy Birthday to me.