Heavily Caffeinated

It's been ages since I cozied up to my computer for an evening post here. When I do feel that nagging creative twinge in the evening hours, I usually take advantage by working on a writing project that, upon its completion, may elicit some form of financial benefit. Either that or I expend that energy by way of a passionate cleaning frenzy, spit-shining every inch of my apartment to the point where a neurotic mother would feel not the least bit disturbed letting her newborn lick the floors.

But tonight, it's all about the newly-33-year-old me. Yes, another birthday has come and gone, this one in yet another new environment, shared with new friends and a brother with whom I have not spent my birthday in at least a decade. A dear younger brother who acknowledged the illustrious occasion by writing in my card, "Roger Daltrey said 'I hope I die before I get old,' and seeing as how you're old, I'm wondering how we can humanely kill you." Charming, eh?

So, give me a few weeks to explore this being 33 shit and I'll report back with a full analysis of whether or not it's better than being 32, perhaps in the form of a Top 10 list (i.e., Top 10 Absurd Things Turning 33 Made Me Do). What I find infinitely cool is that, in a few months' time, I'll be 33 1/3. Yes, come February 5, I will be the equivalent of a long-playing record--considerably warped and bearing tell-tale scratches--yet unquestionably cooler than my younger, shinier counterparts.

Entering my 34th year of life with an important election looming is no pleasant afternoon picnic for my obsessive nature. I am well aware of my tendency to become unwholesomely fixated on politics, debates, mud-slinging and all the outrageousness that is Election 2004. At least there is Jon Stewart. We may not have decent health care or safe borders, but the American people should be unendingly grateful we have Jon. He's this year's saving grace for those of us still equipped with brains.

Considering that I have almost no interest in baseball playoffs, NFL, NHL, WWF, KFC, reality TV (who gives a raccoon's ass who the Donald fires?), Tupperware parties, hunting season or whatever else "normal" people fill their time with, when not focusing all my attention on the voices in my little head, I get to obsess over this fascinating election business. It's my own World Series. My own Superbowl. My own sweeps week. My own version of Jeopardy, where the winner takes all and the loser sulks back to Texas with his balls in a paper bag.

Posted by ayelet at October 6, 2004 08:32 PM