I normally do next to nothing on my birthday other than down a few beers and belt out a few songs at the nearest videoke place, which I do fairly regularly anyway. This year proved to be different: I did not just celebrate my birthday, I celebrated it all week. I spent time with family, videoke-d with the usual cohorts, hung out with friends from ancient times (high school), and ate and drank everything in sight. The parties came with presents, and thanks to the people who love me, I am now the proud owner of all sorts of cold weather gear (hoodies, scarves, caps, and gloves), a vintage-looking, corset-style top, fancy lingerie, a box of tea, notebooks fit for a thirty-something grad student, a stylish, space-age, silver bag big enough for all my crap, a hot-off-the press (well, last year) English translation of the Oulipian Herve Le Tellier’s novel Enough About Love, a How to Find Old New York map from far-flung Manchester, and a custom-made figurine of Minggoy as a sausage in a bun. Amid all the get-togethers, I managed to scoot over to the ToyCon and get myself one tofu-head (egg) and one be@rbrick (daft punk). Not the most mature presents to get for a pretty old self, but who’s checking? Oh, and I did get to watch Green Lantern too at some point in the week, which was nothing great compared to X-Men, which was nothing at all compared to Super 8, and now let’s see how that holds up when Tree of Life comes around.
I’ve been wondering why this birthday turned out to be different from my habitual next-to-nothing mode and I realize it’s due, in no small part, to the fact that I’m on leave from work. I actually have time to see friends and watch movies in the theater and go beyond the limits of Cubao to visit, say, Megamall. I therefore conclude that one must have no work to get a life.