The PK 27 -- Air Jordans

It's my birthday soon. And on my born day, the essence of adolescence will have been long gone from my veins, kid.

How'd I get here? Well, Rents, I chose life. Chose a job. Chose a family. Chose a fucking big television. Chose a washing machine and a car. Chose a fucking web browser.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not that guy. I'm not lamenting being in a different age bracket when I fill in surveys. I like being older and I like filling in surveys. I like my life. Love my wife. Love my career. Like how the game has slowed down to the point where I can read it, rather than simply react to it. Like being Favre, baby. No timeouts.

Thing is, I think and act like I've worked it out. And most of it is making sense to me. Problem being, when I was 17 I thought I had it all sorted. At 23, I knew it all. 27? Lord of the manor. Truth told, what'd I know? Not enough.

And the thought has me a little spooked.



My teens and twenties, summarised in three and a half minutes. An indictment, really.

The weekend is the weekend
And it’s sunny in the park
I’ll stay here with my beer and fish and chips till it gets dark
I’ve got a lot of homework
But homework he can wait
I never start my homework till its already too late
My parents say think about your future and my teachers say the same
But it’s hard
When there’s a basketball game in the park
It’s 1998
And everybody’s saying:
'Harry, you’re going to be a lawyer some day…'

But just right now
Can’ think of anything better to do
Than just sit down at the piano and a write this tune
And maybe later
Maybe later in the afternoon
I’ll sit back and relax
And think of all the things I’m going to do…

I don't know what form the song for the next chapter of my life will take, I just hope it isn't sung by Tom Waits.