Berfday

Let’s get one thing straight here: I don’t want to hear the Happy Birthday song. Full stop. We’re two hours into my 22nd birthday and I haven’t heard it yet, so good on you guys. That song, it’s just — it’s not catchy, there’s a dearth of poetic devices, no discernible rhyme scheme, and three out of its four lines are exactly the same. I have never seen a single recipient of The Song That Will Not Be Sung look comfortable while they’re being — being barraged with it. It’s untenable, is what it is. I’d use my Birthday Wish to wish that song out of existence, but if I’m remembering my Birthday Wish rules correctly such a wish is only applicable if it’s made while I blow out the candles which can only occur after hearing the very song I’m trying to eliminate. I just can’t do it — I don’t trust my actions when I’m in range of that thing. The conspiratorial institutions that are in place to make sure that song isn’t going anywhere are just too much.

I must admit to feeling at a bit of a loss as to how I’m supposed to be reacting to turning 22. Technically I’m at an age where I should be tried as an adult, yet juvenile hall still feels like home to me, you know? I’m walking the fence between youth and adulthood and I’m not sure if I should be hopping down onto the lawn to retrieve my ball or yelling at myself to get off my fence, you crazy kid. Among the conflicting experiences I’ve recently had regarding my age:

• I picked up a copy of Us while in line at the grocery store and was able to successfully identify six of the eight celebrities pictured on the cover as people who exist outside of a Jay Leno monologue. Point in favour of youth!

• The above Youth Point might be negated by the fact that I was in line to purchase yams and nothing but.

• While I still don’t identify with the middle-aged speaker in the Steely Dan song Hey Nineteen, the fact that I’m aware of Steely Dan at all is more than a bit troubling.

• I called someone a “turkey” the other day and I really meant it.

• I’m eating a bowl of cereal right now and I’ll probably have four more before bed. It’s also two in the morning as I write this.

• MAD Magazine < The lighthearted letter that typically concludes each week’s letters section in The Economist

• I heard a kid on the bus refer to The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time as “the first one” and had the nigh insuppressible urge to throw him to the ground and tell him to get his facts straight. Fortunately I resisted and merely gave him a stern talking to about the release history of the Zelda series followed by my theories on its proper chronological order and alternate timelines, but I certainly could see myself not handling that situation like an adult.

• I remain under the delusion that all of my career and personal aspirations will be fulfilled, without sacrifice, very soon. I’m probably never going to die, either.

But none of that matters right now because I’ve just received the greatest gift of all from yours truly. You see, in an effort to reign in my less covetable qualities, for the past 61 posts I have deleted every Steely Dan reference within these entries… until now. The floodgates are open. From here on out I’m allowing myself to go to Barrytown with references to The Dan. Brace yourself for an onslaught of evocative allusions to whatever “battle apples” are, minute-long saxophone solos in the middle of the text, and posts that have been rewritten so many times that they have become but a soulless shell of meaningless frivolity with zero emotional resonance whatsoever. And they’re going to rule.