Put me out to pasture and feed me to the wolves.
On Wednesday it was my dad's birthday (happy birthday, Pop Fits!). I called him sometime mid-morning to sing my inimitable take on the birthday song (two parts Marianne Faithfull post-smack addiction, one part Torn Anus, 'Me And A Gun' accapella-stylee) and wish him birthday love all the way from Auckland (where I am working) to Sydney (where he is working).
'Have you had a nice birthday morning?' I asked him.
'I've had a lovely birthday morning, thank-you' he replied.
I asked him what he'd done to make it such a lovely birthday morning, imagining perhaps chocolate cake for breakfast, a nudie dance to 'Bicycle' by Queen, brand new pump-action sneakers with rocket jets and a ride to work on a Harley.
He thought about it for a moment.
'Well, I went for my walk. Then I had a very good coffee at my local cafe. Oh, and then I found an excellent peach to put on my muesli.' (Pause) 'So all in all it was a wonderful birthday morning. Full of nice things.'
I started feeling a bit sorry for him and having a wry smile about how small pleasures seem to take over your life when you're over 55 and no longer working full time. Then I realised that I'd had almost the exact same morning and derived about the exact same amount of pleasure from the exact same activities. Only my excellent piece of fruit was an apple and not a peach.
Fucking hell. I'm not even thirty yet. Could someone please remind me to nip out and paint the town a shade of vermillion before it's too late?
935 days til the next election.
Comments
Hey tonight, can you please paint the town blood red. Cheers
That *is* disturbing. When do you turn thirty again?
Although, something tells me that your birthdays involve slightly more than a pleasantly-adorned bowl of cereal.
When are you back from NZ?
What's that dearie?
Speak UP young lady. I can't hear you.
well... at least your legacy has been passed down to the next generation...
Last night I was at a certain formal dinner and a certain Liberal MP was doing the Youth Liasoning thing. I mentioned I was interested in studying political sociology at uni...
"well you've just got to read read read"
To which I automatically replied
"Yeah, I'm reading Bob Ellis at the moment"
We were in polite company. It was awkward.
Vermillion! Shouldn't you be thinking about a more sensible colour at you age, like an umber or a burnt sienna? :)
Get. Fucked.
Jeez Don't worry I am 27 and can no longer handle getting plastered/really stoned then getting up early for work, likewise not eating properly etc. You are not alone!!!
It's really sad when you begin to equate things you do with things you ought to be doing for whatever age you happened to be at the time. It's sad in the sense that people who submit to this ideology have waved the white flag and proclaimed sentiments to the effect of, 'I've realised I'm no longer acting like a sheep and that I've actually done something that borders on original. But, wait, that shouldn't be because I'm not supposed to be doing that.' I hope you don't take offence, seeing as this is my first time at your blog, but who cares how old you are if you enjoy (doing) whatever it is?
The white flag can be a shroud.
Too easy.
No surrender.
- barista
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