Old Guy

Last week it happened again- the dreaded birthday. Even as a boy, birthdays were problematic. Mine fell halfway between the fourth of July and starting back to school. So while the Hot Wheels were cool, it was a reminder of one month to go before the end of summer vacation.

I'm not sure things have gotten significantly easier in the ensuing years. My Dad told me on my twenty-fifth birthday, that if I were a car I would qualify for Historic License plates. Did I mention that I come from a pragmatic people?

When I hit thirty, I felt that it was the beginning of respectability. By my later 30's, I was feeling about as respectable as I wanted to become. And that was before I moved to California. I've mentioned before about West Hollywood Math- where one counts thusly: 37, 38, 39, 1000. In WeHo, where I seldom find myself actually, I have reached the age of one Thousand and seven. In Chinese culture, it is year of the old guy. And somehow, I am okay with it. I guess after the last year or so I'm just happy to keep counting.

The birthday was celebrated at UberKen's, on his back terrace by the pool. Many of the usual suspects were present. There were two other birthdays in the group, so we shared a party. It was a splendid clear summer night. A jazz combo provided a delightful background. The hors d' oeuvres were as pleasing to the eye as the young waiters who served them. Ask me about Aaron sometime. The bartender was rehearsed to assure his competence at producing the devastatingly cold Martini. Will and I gave him an adequate opportunity to demonstrate his prowess.

Two fun girls, who decorum demands remain nameless, seemed to occupy more of his time than we did. After the more respectable guests departed, those two decided that inebriato skinny dipping was the order of the night. A few others joined them, mostly gay men (the girls seemed to like the idea of men who are hard to get). Michael the chauffeur was among them. I forgot which one he ended up with. It doesn't matter, because they both passed out. It's not as amusing as the black hooker he picked up on the lawn at Pebble Beach. We should have invited her.

I have a whole year to rest up for a thousand and eight.