Happy Birthday to Me

How long do we spend planning important, meaningful things to say and do just in anticipation of an appropriate occasion to use them? How many famous quotes were conceived days, weeks, years earlier, only to be released publicly at the opportune moment?

The Gettysburg address was famously written almost stream-of-consciousness as proof of its profound sincerity, etc. Other quotes, like addages and other sayings, are the result of not only years, but generations of bright people refining them into just the perfect bite of text. A Russian saying I just learned goes thus, "What is Beer without Vodka."

Right on.
5 words, lots of context, and the wisdom of an entire culture to back it up.

I guess what I'm wondering is, do we come up with special thoughts, and then wait for a special moment, or do they really spring forth from our minds in their pure brilliance upon the occasion that warrants them?

I don't have any answers. If you're looking for answers, you've come to the wrong blog. Try the one to your left. Or right. whatever.

What's got me thinking about this is that today is my birthday, and while for 99.999% of the world (I credit myself here more than is due, not even 0.001% of the world's population actually cares that today is my birthday), this day is meaningless, just another mid-July day that is either too hot or too cold for most of us. But for me it's special, just as I'll bet you think your birthday is special too (well sorry, but it's not).

And on a special occasion, I'd like to have something special to say, to think, to do... to wear for pete's sake. whatever. But I just don't. Because our lives aren't constructed conveniently or logically, and that's not so bad. I'm having a good day: I went out and drove posts into the ground in sweltering 36 degree celcius heat (I can get away with pretending this is as hot as I want, since none of you can place exactly where this falls on the F-scale, right?). After that it was a lunch of meatballs-turned-hamburgers and a guided tour of historic Subotica, Serbia, which is neither especially historical, nor particularly Serbian (90% Hungarian population). Then I got to write a blog.

So what I'm saying is that, while in the back of my head, I feel like I should be doing something special - watching egregiously horrible b-movies, gorging myself on junk food, skydiving, whatever - I'm just not, and I don't have a brilliant excuse for it, nor even a sizeable amount of regret that I'm not doing it. I just didn't plan for it, and having no plan, I just accept it as another day, another birthday, with no more fanfare than the three days after christmas, or two days before New Year's.

There is a tradition here in Europe - I don't know how common - to give other people a present on your birthday. Interesting flip, and certainly easier on everyone else. They don't have to remember the dates of all their friends birthdays, because they know when the time comes around, their friend will be bringing in a large pile of candy, and that's much easier to get excited about.

So, as a particularly poor substitute for High-Fructose-Corn Syrup-laced goodies, I just wanted to say a very sincere thank you to all of you who have continued to wade through this silly little blog I keep blathering on about. I don't have a hit counter, and I'm not tracking IP addresses, so I don't know who's been coming, how often they've been here, or what they really thought (aside from the over-generous comments). Some of my posts have been mundane - VERY mundane - others a bit more exciting. As a result, there are now some people reading that I didn't originally invite, perhaps some people I don't even know. Well, OK, but that must be weird for you. Whatever floats your boat. I'm happy to be a curiosity, but only for the extra-curious.

But whoever you are, my closest of friends, my most distant of relatives, or someone I wouldn't even recognize on the street, let me just say thanks for being here for me. Sure, the emotional attachment I have to you is just misdirected from the webserver on which Blogger allows me to record my little travel diary, but it is sincere, and knowing (or even pretending) that you're out there has kept me much more balanced in my travels than I would be otherwise. It hasn't hurt my typing skills either, and the boost to my brainpower by having a need to be creative is pretty incredible as well.

You've cleaned out my cobwebs, you've given me a purpose, and I've given you post after post of self-indulgent drivel and largely pointless anecdotes, and of course I love you for it all.

so thanks, and happy birthday to you as well, whenever it is. You've probably told me, but I don't remember.

Isn't that just the way it is.

Weber (on the lamb)