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40.

40 years. Before you get there, you can't figure out why this thing won't go any faster and why everyone is giving you the finger. When you finally do get here, you find out the brake pedal goes all the way to the floor and there's an awful lot of traffic in front of you. You're left with trying to figure out if the emergency brake works, or if you can downshift, or if you can rub off speed on a Jersey barrier, or you try to find a soft spot on the shoulder, or you just start blowing the horn and brace yourself. Or, you turn up the radio a bit, look in the mirror and make sure your hair looks right, and floorboard it.

And then, moments before impact, a helicopter will swoop down with a ladder and you climb up and find out it's being flown by a former Bulgarian spy played by Sophie Marceau, and she whisks you to a secret NSA lab where you are interrogated by agents portrayed by Jodi Applegate and Norah O'Donnell, who keep asking you why you think it's important to try to share silly, self-referential maunderings with a group of strangers. And you explain that it's your birthday and you can't quite figure out whether to write something ponderiferous and twee to mark the occasion or lapse into some sort of slapdash farce in which your antogonists can't keep their clothes on. As they mockingly strut around the interrogation table, with the lights following every contour of their newswomanly physiques, Wilford Brimley bursts in and asks if you've had your bowl of oatmeal. "It's good for you." Jodi and Norah both swoon, and Wilford brusquely says, "You're in trouble here, get up and let's go!"

Despite your protestations that your captors had saved you from a terrifying collision which would have caused your insurance to skyrocket, and that even now they were both vulnerable to mischief, having swooned and are now lying dishabile at your feet, he hurries you through a nearby (conveniently unlocked and unguarded) side door into a waiting Rambler 440 two-door sedan. He drives off and finally speaks again after adjusting his suspenders, "What's wrong with you?" And you think 'oh great, more interrogation, and this time by a flatulent old man with cereal in his moustache,' and you hope he doesn't try the ol' naked interrogation routine, 'cause that would be too gross even for the weirdest sort of hallucinatory birthday blog entry and then he punches you in the arm and says "I asked you a question, boy!" and you answer that you were just trying to mark a special occasion with interesting observations about life and stuff. He makes some sort snuffling grumble sound and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. "Idiot."

You drive on and on, through a very long expanse of desert, and he keeps having to stop and pee on the cacti every fifteen minutes. During one interminably long portion of the drive, flashing lights suddenly fill the car and you are pulled over by CHP Officer Bonnie Clark, played by Randi Oakes. Wilford starts trying to mouth off at her, and she smacks him a good one with her baton which sends him to his knees. You cheer and tell her that he kidnapped you from a perfectly nice interrogation and made you ride all across the desert in a car that smelled like Old Spice and phlegm.

He starts screaming that you should be grateful, and that at least it wasn't a four door or a station wagon. She calls for a paddy wagon for the coot, and asks you to ride up front with her back downtown. She lets you play with the lights and sirens, and you manage to get her to see how fast the cruiser will go let you shoot the shotgun out the window at road signs and you don't really want to ask why it is she was way out in the desert like that, because you're having too much fun getting to play with all the cool cop stuff. She drops you off beside a comfortable and nicely upholstered sofa, which looks a lot like the one you saw in the last issue of Town and Country.

The phone rings and it's the late Charles Nelson Reiley, but you quickly hang up and realize that you are standing at the lectern in a nondescript civic center, and that you are expected to give a speech to the assembled crowd of the Janet Reno Appreciation Society. You clear your throat and button your coat so that it covers your underwear, "Today, I am forty years old, and..." You are drowned out by the sound of thunderous applause and realize that Miss Reno herself has appeared at your side. "Well, then I guess that means that you get a great big kiss." As she sweeps you up in her husky embrace and she peers at you through her large plastic framed eyeglasses, a small beeping sound is heard. It progressively gets louder, and you look over and see that it's five a.m.

Turn it off. Sit up. Vow not to eat the spicy pork rinds after nine p.m. Turn on CBS early news to see what Julie Chen is wearing. Get your tee shirt and FoTLs and turn on the shower. Pee. Take medicine. Brush teeth. Shower. Wonder what to do about van that is still running funny. Wonder if the kids at Vacation Bible School last night listened to you, or were just trying to figure out why Jacob was wearing glasses, or alternately, why Mr. Terry was wearing a big dress. Wonder about when you're going to replace the filters in the air conditioners. Wonder when vacation will get paid off. Wonder why there is a loofa in the shower, since no one uses it. Wonder if peanut butter dental floss would sell. Wonder when grass will get cut. Rinse. Repeat. Dry off, get dressed, wake wife and kids, turn over to local news, wonder how these people ever got a job. Get littlest kid dressed. Brush hair, fix pony tails, try to find orange and white fish toy. Kiss wife. Take kids to grandma's. Turn to leave--"Happy Birthday, Daddy!" Hugs and kisses. Go to work.

Blog.
posted by Terry at 11:00:00 AM