Now THAT is a birthday candle. Why spend an hour lighting forty-four individual wax sticks when you can just set a piece of cheese on fire for twice the lumens and three times the wow factor?
It’s that time of year again! As of today I’m now 44 years old, not dead yet, and still not entering true Midlife Crisis mode with a fancy sports car or a mistress my son’s age. I’m fine with skipping that phase if everyone else is cool with it.
Most of my birthday was frittered away at work, serving others and digging into spreadsheets and doubling my caffeine intake so I could stay awake enough to get to the good parts of the day, while keeping myself too busy to ponder mortality or dwell on the never-ending internal debate over whether I’m truly applying myself toward fulfilling my life’s true purpose(s) here on this imperfect ball of dirt, dust, and Drumpf.
I continued tabling that potential pontification after work and went out to dinner at a promising restaurant that recently opened on our side of Indianapolis. Whenever a nice restaurant opens within five miles of our house, that’s reason enough for us to celebrate, birthday or no birthday.
Freimann Square Park, an eminently photogenic city block in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
It’s that time of year again! As of today I’m now 43 years old and trying not to obsess on the fact that I know at least three different guys who died at that exact age, including a near-forgotten high school acquaintance who popped up in last Thursday’s Obituaries section of the local paper.
…CUT. Forget that paragraph. Maybe we’ll set that aside for another, drearier time. Let’s start over.
For the last few years, my wife and I have spent our respective birthdays together finding some new place or attraction to visit as a one-day road trip — partly as an excuse to spend time together on this most wondrous day, partly to explore areas of Indiana we’ve never experienced before. My 2015 birthday destination of choice: the city of Fort Wayne, some 100+ miles northeast of here. It’s home to several manufacturing concerns, one major insurance company, a selection of buildings with historical importance to the locals, and a small comic book convention I’d never heard of before this year. We checked out the area, we found ways to enjoy ourselves, we got some much-needed exercise, and we took photos.
Gifts from my coworkers: chocolate cupcakes with peanut-butter-cup centers. This is so much better than a birthday pitch-in where 9 out of every 10 participants bring potato chips.
It’s that time of year again! As of today I’m now 42 years old and decided hours ago not to contrive a Hitchhiker’s Guide joke from that. All things considered, I’m a much happier guy at 42 than I was at 21. By the time I’m old enough to want to lie about my age, I won’t be able to get away with it anymore.
For the last few years, my wife and I have spent our respective birthdays together finding some new place or attraction to visit as a one-day road trip — partly as an excuse to spend time together on this most frabjous day, partly to explore areas of Indiana we’ve never experienced before. My 2014 birthday destination of choice: the town of Muncie, some 75 miles northeast of here. It’s the home of Ball State University (my sister-in-law’s alma mater), hometown of Garfield creator Jim Davis, scene of a fair amount of works of art, and location for, of all things, a notable comic book shop I wanted to see.
Classic scene from Action Comics #775, March 2001: married couple Clark Kent and Lois Lane share concerns and burdens like a real married couple. Today this scene is against DC Comics law. (Written by Joe Kelly; pencils by Doug Mahnke.)
So my wife’s birthday is this weekend. She’s thankfully not yet in the mindset of lying about her age or skipping birthdays altogether, so for now I’m allowed another excuse to lavish attention and quality time upon the kindest, loveliest human I know, and I’m not just saying that because she tolerates my foibles, though that’s quite a selling point. Not every minute we share is easy, but we’ve weathered our conflicts, had our adventures, and endured thousands of quiet, boring timespans as well. Like any typical marriage that lasts for more than a month, ours has been all about the ups and the downs, the treacherous mountainsides and the plateaus. If you expect happiness and excitement 24/7/365, you’re doomed to disappointment. We recognize that, and we’ve developed the tools and the foundation to see the harsher times through.
Odd timing brought a regrettable quote to my attention today, on Wife’s Birthday Eve of all days. DC Comics had already made headlines in recent months for the lack of married couples that survived the New 52 reboot intact and not annulled. Adding fuel to the fire at this weekend’s New York Comic Con, DC editor-in-chief Bob Harras responded to a question about their heroes’ current collective failure at matrimony:
…the New 52, we want surprises. We want things to happen that may be unexpected with romances, relationships. What we ask in general is that we don’t want any of our characters rushing into stable relationships. The only character we have married is Buddy Baker, Animal Man, and that was part and parcel of the character.
There is nothing wrong with your ‘Net device. This search field is not clickable and is provided for illustrative purposes only. For best use, send the link to your friends and guffaw when they try clicking on it.
Fun fact: Google+ registrants whose birthdays are in their profiles are treated to a very special Google banner all day long. I rarely use my Google+ account for anything except tracking my YouTube history, but it was a nice, unexpected touch. At first I thought it was a salute to people that share a May 17th birthday, such as Dennis Hopper, Trent Reznor, Dave Sim, or my mother-in-law. When I realized it was keyed to li’l ol’ me, I was flattered and disturbed at the same time.
2011 file photo. Author not responsible for the photo editing.
[Based on the wealth of evidence I provide here each week, one could mount a convincing argument that I dwell too much on entertainment media and not nearly enough on What Really Matters. During some extra-logorrheic weeks, one might also wonder if I’m psychologically blocked from clicking the “Publish” button until I’ve clambered past the 1,000-word mark every time. For such doubters, I offer six words of temporary relief:
And now for something completely different.
In honor of my wife’s birthday, I present high art. Wait, no, scratch that — just haiku. And not the great kind with birds or flowers or natural waterways. Sorry.]
My 40th birthday, the impending milestone that inspired me to begin chronicling the effects of the aging process on my perceptions of the world around me, has come to pass. The prophecy bespoken by no one in particular has been fulfilled!
With this brand new decade, I expect my body and mind to fall apart a little more quickly. I’ll question my life’s purpose and usefulness a little more stubbornly. I’ll gripe a little more loudly about the entertainment industry and how they cater to everyone’s whims except mine. I’ll be slightly less tolerant of those pesky kids on my lawn, though not quite perturbed enough to chase them myself. All of this assumes it the Lord’s will for me not to drive headlong into a concrete wall tomorrow morning, of course.
So far, no sign of any amplified angst.
It’s my understanding I should be depressed about aging, fussing about my hairline, and wishing I looked hot even though I’m blissfully married. None of that happened today. Admittedly, I already survived the hairline phase last year. I’m glad it hasn’t lingered. I don’t look forward to its resurgence in the future. When it comes to prices we have to pay, though, the hairline is a bargain.
Truth is, I don’t miss my mandatory young-stupid-male years. I’m much more content as a non-young man than I ever was in any given school year. I didn’t spend today moping or waxing nostalgic or listening to ’80s hits over and over again like some of my peers do, as if old Madonna singles were like some kind of aural Fountain of Youth.
My last day at 39 was spent working and playing Final Fantasy VI with my son. My first day at 40 was spent working and dining with family at Bazbeaux Pizza. The two days weren’t radically dissimilar. Yesterday I earned virtual treasures; today, I was blessed with intangible presents and also happened to receive a few tangible ones. I stayed up late last night to confirm I didn’t turn wrinkly or crotchety upon the twelfth peal of the nearest ominous church bell.
Maybe I’m more mellow than I should be because NBC spoiled me with three solid new episodes of Community in a single night. Those alone made today the complete polar opposite of my twelfth birthday, the evening of which I spent wracked with stomach pains while on TV Bobby Ewing was killed in an accident on a show I didn’t want to watch. Fortunately my pain and his death were each temporary. I had thought the show was, too. How generous of Hollywood to knock a perfect score down to two-out-of-three some 28 years after the fact.
This song, I think, sums up my current state of complacency, however misplaced or fleeting:
Just the same, I’ll be steering clear of any and all concrete walls tomorrow. You never know which one has your name on it.
Midlife Crisis Crossover! 