shipwrecked

Yesterday was the annual celebration of my birth. I did not see the usual parades, the fireworks seem to have been cancelled due to weather, and the New York times seems to feel that there are better topics to discuss this year on the front page -- something about some silly war. Whatever. Nonetheless it was a great birth celebration. The illustrious chickDeArte took me to a lovely dinner and we had great food and even better conversation. In spite of her efforts, I did NOT put out. Instead I sprawled out in her bed, took all my clothes off and took naughty photos of her cat.

No. Really, I took pictures of Zoe -- her cat. She's the best cat that has ever been invented. If anyone reading has a cat, just know that Zoe would kick your cat's ass, and she's better in bed than your cat. In fact, go home and tell your cat how much they suck in comparison to Zoe. Go. Go tell them the truth. The last thing you want is for them to find out on the street.


So today is the First day of my twenty eighth year. What have I to show for my time? What have I learned this year? Mostly this, and it's not much :

I have studied all the options, reviewed and cross referenced all possibilities and concluded that sensless, unabashed joy is our only sensible recourse. We have no other real choices.