A man told me to beware of thirty-three
He said “It was not an easy time for me”
But I’ll get through
Even though I’ve got no miracles to show you
- “Dishes” by Pulp

So it’s come to pass, and I’ve officially achieved thirty-three. My birthday on Friday was sweet. I took the day off work, saw a movie, had lunch with a friend, and celebrity-sighted Michael Keaton reading a newspaper in a café. I’m not one for putting a lot of weight in omens, but I fail to see how running into Batman on one’s birthday could mean anything other than guaranteed good fortune for the year ahead.

I don’t remember seeing any celebrities on or around my thirty-second birthday that would have suggested how the future year would unfold, but the tenor of past 365 days was akin to wandering into a Sizzler and witnessing the annoying redhead from One Day at a Time snuggling with Alan Thicke at a corner table. Need I say more?

I didn’t hear you if you answered, so here’s more. I’ve never personally sucked on the genitals of a donkey, nor do I know anyone that has (or at least nobody that has admitted to having done so, though now that I think about it, I probably know at least a couple), but the general consensus is that it’s an experience that is mostly negative (from the sucker’s standpoint; no one ever thinks of how the donkey feels). Well, thirty-two sort of sucked donkey balls.

Hopefully then I can be forgiven for seeking a glimmer of hope in happening to happen on Mr. Mom on my special day. The fact is, I’ve been a longtime fan of Mr. Keaton. And why not? He’s brilliant. I mean, he was the Purple Panda on Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. Not a lot of people know that. What range! From panda to president, from snowman to speechwriter, from Beetlejuice to…that guy he played in Night Shift. (Bill Blazejowski, but no one knows that. Even I had to look it up.)

So, here’s to thirty-three and the hope that the next year will bring great fortune, good health, and incredible opportunity. And that I’ll run into Angelina Jolie on October 28th, 2006, newly separated from Brad Pitt.

Does anyone actually read these things?

Tomorrow is my birthday. Thirty-three doesn't seem to be much of a milestone, except when you consider that it was the age that Jesus died. I guess that means that if you've reached three decades and three years without either inspiring people to worship your word, or pissing off an empire enough to nail you to some perch, you can pretty much give up on future generations ever getting a day off of work in your name.

Or maybe not; what was Martin Luther King, Jr. doing at the age of 33? I'm not sure offhand how old he was when he was shot, but there was a guy who obviously didn't get to the Jesus Year and go "Oh well, screw it, might as well call it a day for the whole martyrdom thing. Maybe I'll take up pottery."

I'm very tired. The thought of taking up pottery sounds every bit as exhausting to me as taking on any empire, even one as misdirected and silly as the one I live in. I can't think of a single inspiring thing to say to anyone. No one's listening anyway. I pass a guy almost every day on 3rd Street Promenade who just stands on a corner, yelling a bunch of stuff. I can't believe he's never lost his voice. (Actually, for a while he had a bull horn, but the police probably told him he couldn't use it.) I've certainly never stopped to hear what he has to say, nor has anyone. I mean, how useful could it really be? He's at least not utterly insane, like a lot of the poor souls on the Promenade. I've heard enough of him to know that he's at least forming cogent thoughts, even if they're not original or meaningful. To be honest, every time I see him, my mind fills with the question of why in the world wouldn't be bring a soap box to stand on? I mean, if circumstances ever led me to a pastime of yelling what was on my mind on a street corner, you'd better put BIG money on the fact that I'd be toting a big ol' soap box and standing on that sucker.

My point is, though...

I have no idea. I'm just really tired. And I have nothing I feel I need to say anymore. Thus, a perfect candidate to start a blog. And this is the perfect day to do it, because it's not a special day at all.

On a brighter side, I wasn't really looking forward to crucifixion anyway.