Placeholder age

January 28, 2010

“Does anything interesting happen when you turn 31?”  I ask, because today is my birthday and that’s my age.

“Not really, no,” says Anonymous Doug.  Today we are drinking some pints of Pants on the Ground Porter.  It’s 15% alcohol and guaranteed to have you looking like a fool with your pants on the ground.  “But you can’t reach the next age of significance without going through 31, so it’s just there to be stepped on.”

“It’s a minor character who gets killed off to move the story along for the major characters,”  I say.

“Yeah, 31 is the dead body that’s found at the beginning of Law and Order, or CSI, or Everybody Loves Raymond,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “And that sets everything else in motion for the next hour.”

“They didn’t kill people on Everybody Loves Raymond,”  I say.

“They did when I was watching it,” says Anonymous Doug.  “I was on peyote and mushrooms at the time, but I distinctly remember seeing Ray Romano murder someone to start every episode.  Except for that one time when Peter Boyle strangled a boy scout to begin the show.  Oh, how we laughed.” 

“So I shouldn’t be disappointed if nothing of note happens while I’m 31?”  I say.

“Well, you’re alive, that’s notable considering you thought you wouldn’t live to see 30,”  says Anonymous Doug. 

“Yeah, I was sure something would have gotten me by now,”  I say.  “Some sort of rare cancer, a car accident, a bloody armed standoff with the police…”

“A flash flood, someone stabbing you in the midst of a heated argument, breaking the lonely weight of unbearable depression and swallowing a bunch of pills…”  Anonymous Doug continues my line of thought.  “Yeah, I would have thought one of them would have gotten you before now.”

“You remember that episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where there was that time anomaly and that alternate timeline where Tasha Yar who had been killed off a couple seasons back was still alive but everything else was fucked up for the Federation?”  I say.   “And the only one who knows everything’s fucked up is Whoopi Goldberg?”

“No, because I get laid,”  says Anonymous Doug.

“Regardless, Tasha has this cool line where she tells Captain Picard  ‘I’m not supposed to be here, I’m supposed to be dead,'”  I say.  “And then she goes back in time to the point everything got fucked up to get killed and everything goes back to how it was before.”

“Your point?” says Anonymous Doug.

“Ever get that feeling?  That you’re not supposed to be here?”  I say.

“All the time,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Which is why I don’t feel bad doing whatever I do.  Like putting that webcam in my hot neighbor’s bathroom.  Or getting a blumpkin in a bus station bathroom from a teenage runaway trying to get herself enough cash to get a ticket to Oregon.  Whatever.  If I’m not supposed to be here, I might as well have fun trespassing.”

I think that’s what I’ll call 31… the trespassing year.



  1. I missed out on my chance to be in the 27 Club, and I’ve been depressed ever since. I joined a band and everything.

    But, you know. Yeah birthday.

    • But more importantly, what do you want for your birthday? You want me to get drunk, don’t you? Because I will. For your birthday, I will get drunk, and cheers from afar, and perhaps leave you a drunken comment. Plan? Planned.

      • Your sacrifice on this special day is endearing and will not be forgotten.

        Don’t recall if anyone’s ever left me a drunken comment. And drunken emails haven’t come my way since college.

  2. You really must consult Aretino’s “Dialogues of the Whores” to find out what a “thirty-one” is.

    • Is that like a 69 on an installment plan?

      • Thirty-one installments, to be exact, it being the Renaissance Italy equivalent of “pulling a train,” Aretino has this anecdote in I Ragionamenti about a wife who hears that her husband has talked the maid into doing a thirty-one with his friends while she is away at her sister’s, I think it is, and having heard about how this woman and that has had her thirty-one without being quite sure what it is, bribes the maid to trade places. “These thirty-ones lack all discretion,” she thinks to herself somewhere after a dozen, but when her husband comes in the game is up. There are worse numbers to identify a year of your life with.

  3. you’re officially ‘over 30’. can’t be trusted. sorry… oh, and i’m certain i’ve commented drunk before. happy birthday!

  4. Dear RF,

    Well you fucking win today. Good and drunk. Ho’ws the birthday? I’ve been celevrating. I even made everyone (meaning me and a friend) do a shot for you and then we watched Dating on Demand. That wasn’t for you birthday though it was just for fun. Because that’s what we do. Get drunk and make fun of video personals. Fucking. Win. This one time we filmed our own version fo the Fifth Wheel and itwas goddamn brilliant. BRILLIANT. I totally won, why? because I am irrestable. Irresistible. Spell check be damned, this will work out in my favor. I will come across as fun to be around and the Ideal Person and One Sexy Motherfucker because really, that’s what I am. That last line, by the way, is a direct quote from my friend Phil who also says, “Tell him you’re more involved with his birthday than you were with mine” and I was all, “Whatever, dude, you lived in Vermont and you promised we could play Zelda on Wii and this is definitately Gamecube” and he was all “you’re a stupid bitch” and I was all “you’re a liar who buys lame organic beer from Whole Foods” and he was all “my girlfriend is a vegan” and I was all “so you’re a sally too” and he was all “at least I don’t read stranger’s blogs” and I was all “touche, sir. Well met” Also, your email address is totally unfindable for drunk people.

    Let it be known, I keep my promises.

  5. oh rassles will you leave a drunken comment when it’s my birthday too? please?

    many happy returns big boy – see you in Greece?

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