Smell the rantin'!

My 30th birthday is coming up in a couple weeks (April 30th, for those of you who find yourself drawn in by the Siren's call of the Amazon wish list), and I was planning on doing some sort of large list type of post, rattling off a bunch of personal, historical, and/or pop cultural events that I've seen or experienced in my life (with several references for humorous effect to all of the terrible things that happened to Arnold's friend Dudley in the many Very Special Episodes of "Diff'rent Strokes"), but ultimately decided against it. For one thing, huge lists can be pretty tedious to read through, so I try to use them sparingly here. Also, it probably wouldn't be particularly interesting to anyone but me, seeing as those of you that read this on even a sporadic basis experienced most of the same stuff, too. Besides, thanks to the "I Love the _____" series and "Best Week Ever," VH1 has pretty much tapped the nostalgia well dry at this point.

And that's all it'd be, really... nostalgia, specifically of the variety that you tend to wallow in whenever you find yourself rolling into a new decade, be it a calendar decade or a personal one, and hit an age that seemed pretty ancient to you when you were a little kid. And that's honestly what I've been doing the past few weeks - wallowing, inventing a series of tiny little existential crises to focus on in order to... well, I'm not sure. Give myself something to do, probably. I tend to invent little problems from time to time in order to give myself something to focus on. And the thing is, I'm not even sure why I find myself doing this. For one thing, people turn 30 every day and don't spontaneously combust, contract a fatal illness, or suddenly decide to vote Libertarian, so I don't see why I'm any different. Also, when I look back on things, I've enjoyed my late 20s a hell of a lot more than my early 20s or - yeesh- my teens, so if everything continues on more or less the same path, things should continue to be good. Maybe even... wait for it... get better still.

So you know what? Screw it. All of it. I am many things, but not time's bitch. I commit myself to a wallow-free birthday. I will eat too many grilled foods and cake and Chinese food and whatever else, drink too many beers, and blow any cash I get from my parents on things I want but do not need. And have a damn good time doing it, too.

And now I shall celebrate this decree with the posting of a picture of the boy decked out in his Easter finery.

My child is the cutest carbon-based lifeform in the history of all creation.