Sunday, March 29, 2009
Forget your age lately? It's a strange brain exercise. Assuming you can recall the year of your birth, simple math helps. Two days ago I forgot I was 33. Hopped on the elliptical trainer at the gym; pressed FAT BURN; entered my weight; AGE? I punched in 3 3, but then I chuckled cos that's impossible; I'm 32, right? I have to be; No. No. I'm 33. What?
Evidently, I had a great birthday. It was only some two months ago but I'd forgotten. Reading through a journal today, I came across this entry. It corroborated my math and reminded me that turning 33 was fucking awesome for at least a whole minute.
I left work and started to cross 2nd Street at Market. A huge, embarrassing, irresponsibly built and used SUV - operated by the usual tiny, middle-aged, white woman- tried to run me over. I was noticed and then illogically ignored. I stopped squarely in front of her stupid truck, planted my feet in the concrete, looked her in her dead eyes and clearly, slowly, DRAMATICALLY pursed my lips to form the perfect, silent, yet guttural pronouncement of A S S H O L E.
Immediately after, I considered I was too hard on her... then I remembered the SUV part and knew she probably deserved it.
I dole out social justice. Happy Birthday!