About Celebrations

essay

It's no secret that I like to celebrate for special events. Oh, I don't mean collective special events, like the Fourth of July or Sadie Hawkins Day (although it's also no secret that I'll accept nearly any reason to throw down); I'm talking about those truly special, me-only type of events. I like to let my hair down and be the person I only dream about most times. Sadly, sometimes the next morning I am painfully (sometimes blindingly) aware of what a bonehead the person I wish I could be all the time, is.

Today is one of those days.

For those of you obsessive types reading my blog and collecting all pertinent data on same, you'll know what today is. For the rest of you, you'll find out soon enough. For now be happy that I continue to plod forward with my cranial deluge, even while knowing full well that most of you have no idea what it is I am going to be celebrating today, once I finish typing and put the computer back into its double walled and insulated cage... which is where all dangerous creations must be stored. I have my own.

I won't be insulted. It would be a horrific waste of my time, and on this day of days that would be a real crime. If I were a religious man I could relax, knowing that after this pitiful number of decades allotted to me ends, I will still forever be able to celebrate this special day from either on high (hopefully) or down low (even more hopefully), but believing as I do that I can't be certain how many more years of celebration are in store for me, that would be dumb. Instead I accept your unintended ignorance with a magnanimous smile, dear reader and continue with my admittedly benign tirade.

You know I write. You hold the evidence before you and know I sometimes even write to excess, choosing topics from widely varying sources, all seemingly unconnected, until I cobble a tenuous joint between them and they suddenly, hopefully, fall into a skeletal and roughshod arrangement and begin making some sense to you.

What you may not know is that I have not done this forever. Well, of course you know I haven't done it forever; I haven't lived that long. But I haven't even written creatively for the bulk of my life, which in my overworked and underadverbed mind is what I meant when I said 'forever'. Except for assignments back in various establishments of learning from my youth, I have not put finger to key for the purpose of intellectual dissemination and creative outlet, at all.

That's not to say I haven't spend many a restless night over the course of my long life compiling these thoughts into a cogent form, getting them honed for my ultimate reveal, I have; boy oh boy, I have. But for creating an actual permanence of the recorded word, for building that mountain of description which will serve as a digital reminder of my thought process; now that I have not committed to the printed or electronic page.

Until recently.

Specifically, for two years. To the day. That's right... it's coming to you, don't push it away... as it turns out I'm celebrating an anniversary. I have been committing every squamous thought of mine to permanence for 730 days now, forcing you to read my mental diarrhea for 104 weeks. Maybe not forcing you... you are certainly free to avert your eyes or open a separate page plastered with sensual nudes of the Greco-Roman era...

but I am most surely attempting to fill your days with the great lost art of reading, and the even greater, loster art of thinking. Heck, I stick a few sexy pics in each post so you don't have to look for them yourselves, that's how much I want you to absorb my uniquity. Like the word uniquity. Twenty-four months of brand-spanking-new concepts, beliefs and invented words. How do you even stand it all? I know I can't. That's why I'm celebrating.

And exactly how will I celebrate two years of brainia? Yes, that's brain mania for those of you who still need insight into my thought process. Well, that's easy. You might almost call it a no-brainia.

I'm celebrating two years of writing-- by not writing!

I'm taking a day off! Not working the neurons, not taxing the synapses, not wearing my fingertips down to nubs. I'm going to spend the day in purely physical pursuits. Maybe a mud bath, maybe parasailing lessons. All right you got me... maybe a mud bath.

Or perhaps I'll hit an Indian Casino (is that racist? All right then, an AMERICAN indian casino? But, I've recently heard that ALL Americans are African Americans because of early human migration, so I guess the whole thing is moot) and try my luck at throwing away money. I could hit the beach and create one of my unique sand dungeons... but that really seems like too much work. Plus, using a shovel tends to atrophy the muscles needed for the delicate process of typing; at the end of a busy sand-shifting day I'm lucky if I can hunt-and-peck a shopping list using my outstretched thumbs.

And then there are the base human desires.

This is largely a G-rated post (with a few triple or quadruple X rated words thrown in) so I'll withhold specific descriptions... needless to say, I could hire a woman to play a vaccuum, to clean areas of my nether region or buy a bang-o-gram and beg them not to bother with the balloons... or the costume. You get the picture.

Or I could break with tradition and spend the next 24 hours asleep. I love sleeping! The only thing I like better than sleeping is waking up, rolling over and going back to sleep. The problem with that, as with many things in life, is how too much of a good thing suddenly becomes not good at all. Try as I might, when I attempt unchecked sleep I eventually get bored of it. So that's out... except for the normal four or five naps I regularly take in a single day. Hey, I need them... don't judge.

In deciding what I want to do with this special day, and in putting it all in written form for you, I realize I have placed myself into a Catch-22 situation. It turns out that in telling you all how I'm going to spend the day NOT writing... I actually wrote a fair amount.

So I'm going to stop now and find something else to do with my day. After all, it's my two-year writing anniversary.

Oh, I almost forgot-- it's also my birthday.

Copyright 2011 Bruce Ian Friedman