You know what you can do with that cake?

I woke up early on my born day. I'm 29. It's depressing. And you can bet your sweet ass my physical frame didn't celebrate it 'cause I made it*. It's been a while since I stopped celebrating the ninth of May -- I think I stopped when I turned 8 -- because, like trying to talk to a corpse, it's boring, and there's no point. Why would I be genuinely happy that I'm one digit closer to close the curtains time? Nowadays, I look forward to this day as much as I look forward to a trip to the dentist. Or E-Mart.

For whom the bell tolls and all that, I'm one step closer to senility, cancer (please, God, spare my testicles), vehicular manslaughter (that's where my money's resting), heart disease (if I had a heart, I mean), a stroke (not Julian Casablancas), drowning, being burned alive in an apartment fire, choking on a sandwich (which, actually, would be quite poetic; word to Mama Cass) -- take your pick. Certainly, I realize that EVERY day represents my eventual progression toward causeless martyrdom/the ether/Madison Square Garden, but I'm not reminded of it most days. I could really do without cheery 7AM wake-up calls on the most depressing day of the year, thank you very much.

(Now, perhaps, my numbers-loathing post from yesterday -- oh! to be 28 again -- makes a little more sense.)

Fear not, Constant Retards: this probably reads more maudlin than I honestly feel. If you want to see unadulturated kvetching and doomsaying, check back a year from now and watch sparks really fly (off the hinges). The Big Three-Oh looms. Hopefully, I'll have mellowed in my old age.

PS - I received no presents today. And that's fine by me, because what do you give the man who has everything? But I'd like to think that Presentus (the Greek god of gift giving) took pity on me this afternoon and threw me this ribbon-tied parcel:

Raekwon's upcoming album, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 2, it has been confirmed, contains the song The Brass, produced by the RZA and featuring Ghostface Killah and...John Frusciante.

(God bless you, Presentus.)



* I think I'm coming down with the flu, but it could be psycho(delickimchi)somatic.