It is the light inside of us that breathes the light in front of us
It is my birthday. I am thirty-seven years old. Last year I couldn't think of any characters my age except for Dean Priest, which was un-ideal, but this year I am as old as Waldo Butters the October he polka-puppeted a zombie tyrannosaur through the streets of Chicago:
"Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms and said, "Do your worst."
I can live with that.
I spent my erev birthday with my family, who gave me the exhibition books for the New Bedford Whaling Museum's A Spectacle in Motion: The Grand Panorama of a Whaling Voyage 'Round the World (2018) and a CD of Black Belt Eagle Scout's Mother of My Children (2018). Charlotte made me a hand-drawn card in three colors. Today's actual birthday hoard includes Gemma Files' Spectral Evidence (2018), Renée Levine Melammed's An Ode to Salonika: The Ladino Verses of Bouena Sarfatty (2013), and the DVDs of the Glyndebourne Festival Opera's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg that I watched on livestream at a stupidly early hour of the morning in 2011. Construction across the street at eight in the morning was not the gift I was hoping to receive from the City of Somerville, but I am pleased to see that the City of Boston is finally dredging its harbor to accommodate the larger container ships that now pass through the similarly deepened Panama Canal. I have a new review on Amazon, which makes me feel much less as though I had a book for a month and then it disappeared.
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spatch is taking me to the sea.
"Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms and said, "Do your worst."
I can live with that.
I spent my erev birthday with my family, who gave me the exhibition books for the New Bedford Whaling Museum's A Spectacle in Motion: The Grand Panorama of a Whaling Voyage 'Round the World (2018) and a CD of Black Belt Eagle Scout's Mother of My Children (2018). Charlotte made me a hand-drawn card in three colors. Today's actual birthday hoard includes Gemma Files' Spectral Evidence (2018), Renée Levine Melammed's An Ode to Salonika: The Ladino Verses of Bouena Sarfatty (2013), and the DVDs of the Glyndebourne Festival Opera's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg that I watched on livestream at a stupidly early hour of the morning in 2011. Construction across the street at eight in the morning was not the gift I was hoping to receive from the City of Somerville, but I am pleased to see that the City of Boston is finally dredging its harbor to accommodate the larger container ships that now pass through the similarly deepened Panama Canal. I have a new review on Amazon, which makes me feel much less as though I had a book for a month and then it disappeared.
spatch is taking me to the sea.
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