PSA: Don't take your birthday for granted
Brian Dennehy celebrated 81 of them. I don't think he'd trade any of the years.
Celebrating your birthday or making note of it is old hat for an adult. Birthday parties and wild acknowledgement are long gone, but the understanding that it’s a day that shouldn’t be taken for granted slips by the mind far too easily after the age of 30. After three stacks of high society, most assume it’s a given to be here. WRONG!
Too many people to count didn’t make it to 43 years of age, a mark I reached yesterday. For all the sad sacks who proclaim that making a note of one’s arrival on Earth is an overplayed tune, they should step back and wonder who didn’t make it past 30 or 40 years of age. The unlucky ones who ran into a disease buzzsaw or got caught in a terrible spot at a terrible time would have loved to acknowledge a fresh birthday.
I think my late friend Troy Siade would love to be sitting here and telling me this article is dogshit so far. He would have loved to weigh in on the Jim Edmonds/Cardinals drama, dishing a hot take that would be too much for casual sports fans to handle. He would still make light of his birthdays without knowledge of the fact that cancer would run him over before he was 40. If he were still here, Troy would be cruising past his mid-50s. A lackluster period in Cardinals baseball would be more fun with him here.
So, celebrate the birthdays. Unless you couldn’t give a shit what I did on my day off work on the 43rd anniversary of being a blizzard baby, here’s what I did. Everybody at my work has wondered what I did and how it was, so only the few subscribers in the Crescent building get to read these juicy details.
8:00 am-Took the kid to school. One of my favorite things that I don’t have a chance to do due to the early start for plumbers was first on my docket. It’s not like we had a long-form conversation, but the barbs and zingers traded are sacred. He gives me shit in front of Lexie, his school friend, about being an old man and it never stops feeling fresh and fitting. Getting your kid to smile after he grows a crap ton of hair and passes the age of 13 is something comedians chase every night on a stage somewhere. He used to look like this:
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8:30-Starbucks time, folks. Screw their normal coffee. No offense, Pike Place, but you can stay behind the counter. I head in for one of three things: a Flat White latte, an Americano, or a Medicine Ball hot tea. Pike may be a component in the drink, but I can stomach it in a potent form. A Flat White is a sophisticated and stronger latte, using ristretto espresso shots and combining foam and froth. Getting to enjoy this beverage without rushing its consumption is one of the little things that gets left behind on a normal Monday.
9:00-Drop the truck off for an oil change. While I’ve kept it social media silent due to the hoards of “friends” and family who would come running to borrow it, having a truck came quite in handy for the winter storm and has driven like a jacked walrus for the time it’s been in my possession. An A-to-B Ford Focus that eventually ran its transmission into a wall and a trio of scooters pales in comparison to a 2019 Dodge Ram Classic. The V6 engine keeps gas prices from kicking my ass too hard, and the oil change is appropriately more expensive than a tiny sedan. This was my “use a day off to be productive” move of the birthday.
9:30 to 10:30 am-A big bowl of nothing. Sure, I messed with some laundry and tended to the three dogs who can’t shut the heck up when dad is home. There was some movement and activity, but I largely did next to nothing in my basement for an hour or possibly two. No, Mr. Edmonds, I didn’t pound out a blog with a big of Doritos next to me as I expunged another tale about his post-playing career. All I did was exist.
11:00-Truck’s ready and it’s grub time. With a day off, I aimed to get something that would be harder to acquire on a work day. Southwest Diner, located near Maplewood and I-44, was the easy choice. The Mexican spin on diner food rarely disappoints, and that’s only if I make a menu audible into something too spicy. I’m a hot wing guy but not a “BURNT LAVA” flavor guy. The Fiery Scramble, a house favorite created by co-owner Jonathan Jones, was the choice. Spicy eggs, potatoes, toast, and bacon. I drowned all of it with a spicy Bloody Mary. If I had two of those, this post would end here.
12:00pm-After helping out a friend get her girl home from school-migraines are pure evil-it was time to head to the parents house. A weekly hangout turned into a bonus round with a trip to my brother’s house to cut his hair. If you ever wondered how many family members it takes to buzz my brother Bryan’s head, three would be the correct answer. Instead of one of us doing it, a tag-team format was used. My dad started the trimming, mom jumped in, I did some, and mom jumped back in to get around the ears. Chaos never made it in the door, so laughs were had and hair found a proper home in the trash can.
4:00-After taking a long drive with the old man to my aunt and uncle’s house in Ballwin for a visit, I descend home through the rush hour bonanza that can’t be avoided. It starts earlier and earlier every month. People heading home from work in a mood that can only be described as “death strip 1000.” They drive fast, slow, in between, and never correctly. It’s not a mood killer, but it’s close.
630-The wife scores a goal and orders me Bud’s Pizza, which is the new tasty pizza joint in south city. Located very close to my childhood home off Kingshighway and Tholozan, it’s the rare place that tastes just as good upon delivery. Since it only takes two miles to reach my home, this is the spot. A large cheese pizza and a salad for my intestines committee was all I needed. Yeah, going old school with no toppings allows one to appreciate the essence of a pizza.
730-Getting caught up on the thrilling new Hulu show starring STL native Sterling K. Brown, Paradise, was a night extender. Afterwards, I watched the final film of Brian Dennehy called Driveways. Released five years ago to little fanfare or publicity, it’s a nice little indie about a war veteran who befriends a young kid whose mother has moved in next door to clean out her late sister’s home. Dennehy, known to many as intense and a favorite to play villains, got to change it up in his final role as a mild-mannered elder who finds energy and life fulfillment in the friendship of the boy after losing his wife. It’s a sweet performance as my wife aptly called it, a sweet movie fit for anyone. The movie starts slow, finishes strong, and only lasts 90 minutes. It’s free on Prime.
Outside of that, I fell asleep around 10pm, ready to fight another day and year around the sun. Thanks for reading this completely useless but hopefully interesting diary entry.