I love birthdays.

Birthdays are like lap markers: Like speeding past the starting line in your Formula One car. You can look at your watch and kinda gauge your performance over the last lap: What happened in the last year? How have I grown? Who has coached me? Who has cheered me on? Who has been my pit crew? How fast am I going? Do I look stupid in this helmet?

Take that car racing metaphor with a grain of salt. I'm not much of a racing fan and have no idea what I'm talking about. Gimmie a break, will ya? Just because I think racing is stupid, that doesn't mean I have to stop enjoying its metaphoric imagery, does it?

May 28, nineteen99