I made it to 25. According to a magazine in the Volvo dealership's waiting area, I have the option of a quarter-life crisis at this point. This is caused by the opposite of the more popular mid-life crisis, which apparently stems from overstability. People in my age group wonder when their lives will stabilize and they will find meaning and fulfillment. (They also are much more responsible drivers than people even a year younger than themselves.) I feel a little as if I have cheated everyone else. Sometimes I play up trivial problems to be able to relate.

In that same waiting room, I noted that the reading material was generally aimed at older, wealthy types, with National Geographic and "Yachting" among the periodicals stocked. I decided, after a little skimming, that Yachts are attractive to people because they are enormous islands of self-contained luxury and security, completely under the control of the owner. They are possibly the biggest, most powerful vehicles that a private citizen can take responsibility for. I wish I could say I had a rousing little celebration of anti-materialism, but I understood the appeal a little better than I like to admit. I mean, I doubt I would ever go and spend 2.5 million on a water yacht, but if I could captain a spaceship, I probably would.

For my actual birthday on the 2nd, I made last minute plans to go out to eat and drink with my three closest friends, the guys from Hawaii. Kris called me from work and showed up soon after, Brian called and said his girlfriend was driving him over, and Brandon remained out of contact until the very last second. Brian called me when he got to my neighborhood:

Brian: We're looking around.. parking sucks around here.

Andr00:I know. Where are you at?

Brian:We're around... where are we? 11th and Pine.

Brian:Oh, is that..

[honnnk!]
[human S C R E A M I N G]
[*click*]

I looked at the receiver for a while, then decided that I was probably obligated to go to their last known location and find out what the fuck. "Oh boy," said Kris, "a wild goose chase!".

Well, they were just in a fender bender. From the way that phone call ended, it sounded like they were attacked by terrorists or off a cliff or something else loud and fatal.

The rest of the night was unremarkable. A comfortable dinner with friends, followed by various alcoholic drinks. Good memories, though.

Yeah, Sir Mix-a-lot was in the store the other day. He comes in all the time... I should call him Sir Comes-in-the-store-a-lot. -- Kris