XL

That really is Phish and I do really suck as a photog.

The plan was to mark my 40th birthday a day in advance with Phish at Dick's Sporting Goods Park. Further, the plan involved:

1. Destroying my hearing with loud rock 'n' roll music;

2. Engaging in physical activity bearing mere passing resemblance to what humans consider "dancing";

3. Ingesting no small quantity of recreational narcotics;

4. Making questionable decisions regarding free-spirited, tie-dyed hippie women.

Three out of four ain't bad.

***

I felt every bit of 40 a few weeks back with an immobile upper body and a potential new, sedentary reality involving constant pain setting in. Obviously, that wasn't the case but in those days before I went to the osteopath and the PT I feared the worst. So I guess my birthday present to myself (other than the Phish show and its resulting effects) was the appointment with the OD and subsequent referral to PT. Peace of mind is the gift that keeps giving, especially if it saves you from a life you don't want and allows you to keep doing what you love.

Otherwise, no. I don't notice any change from 39.

***

Most people get philosophical or indifferent about birthdays later on in life, as the burned-out, frosting-caked candles mount. I got an early start. School started on my birthday at least twice growing up, and I didn't care much for school, especially after I figured out around age 14 what I wanted to do in life.

Then I joined the Fourth Estate. Sept. 2 is nothing but another paper to get off the floor by deadline. One year I asked for the day off (a Thursday) months in advance only to be denied to accompany my boss to cover a college football game — while a similarly responsible co-worker got that night off. The Quad-City Times' parent company gives the birthday as a paid holiday, but doesn't give time-and-a-half for working it. And because my birthday falls during football/other fall sports, and because company policy required the day to be made up within a month of the actual day — and did I mention I was born during football season in the first place? — my birthday is a colossal pain in the ass.

Ironically, I come from a family that makes a big deal out of birthdays and holidays. That has its positives (cards and an occasional present) and negatives (lots of butt-hurt when such things go unacknowledged). Dec. 25 is no different than Sept. 2, which is no different than June 6 or Nov. 18 — I have a job to do. Not my fault people want their paper on Dec. 26, Sept. 3, June 7 or Nov. 19.

All the more reason to let it pass unacknowledged.