Turning 30

I’ve wanted to be thirty my entire life. I remember watching Big when I was 6 or 7 and being soooo jealous. I just wanted to skip right to that part. Where I was getting paid to do something cool and still living the dreams of a kid.

Thirty meant finally being able to buy a pinball machine and turning the basement into a laser tag fortress. I couldn’t wait. I’d be sipping coffee and talking about the stock market during the day and then firing bb guns at plates in the kitchen at night.

“PLATES?! WHO NEEDS PLATES!”

Well now it’s actually here. I’m turning thirty today. And in the years in between then and now, I’ve started paying bills and accumulating debt. I’ve had loved ones pass away. I’ve been stuck in traffic and worked weekends. I’ve heard people worry — about everything.

And I see why growing up is so easy and so hard at the same time. I understand how tempting it is to let that age you. But I want state for the record that it doesn’t have to.

My six year-old self would be happy to know that I got a lock-picking set for Christmas, bought a sheesh-ton of pickles at the store the other day, and have no less than 4 pocket knives. I’m learning how to play the ukelele, I wear the same shirt almost every day, and tonight we’re going out for pizza.

Turning thirty is totally what you make of it.

So to you, little T, I say good news… thirty is here, and you were right; it’s freaking awesome.

Seven Years Old and Totally Not Scared of Halloween

Oh, hey mom. Yeah, no, I just thought I’d call it a night. I wasn’t scared. Obviously. I’ve been nightlight-free for, what, eleven days now? I think that speaks for itself. I’m just kind of over Halloween. Getting all dressed up like this. I mean, who are we trying to impress? I feel like we’ve come further than that, you know? As a country. Our founding fathers are probably rolling over in their graves.

And didn’t you see that 60 Minutes special on diabetes? We could have a real crisis on our hands here. How people can be gorging themselves on candy at a time like this is beyond me. You want to talk about scary… I’d like to know who’s going to pay those hospital bills.

Plus there’s that cold front moving in. You know what that does to my knees. Why put myself through that, you know? I have a tee ball game tomorrow. You think Hank Aaron ever trick-or-treated the night before a game? I doubt it.

And don’t even get me started on all of the gang violence that’s been happening lately. Red, blue, pink, purple… a guy could get shot just trying to support breast cancer awareness. And it’s not like this costume is made of real kevlar. Am I right?

Anyway, I think I’m just going to turn in.

Hey, don’t worry… I’ll crash with you and Dad. I know how scared you get.

I don’t seem to spend very much time writing for fun anymore, but sometimes I like to take ten minutes and go wild…

Alright, I’ll tell you the truth… I’ve never been to the moon. I lied before. When I said that I snuck onto that rocket ship… that was a lie. I’m sorry. But if it helps, I believed it for a while myself.

Because I remember it pretty clearly. Sneaking onto the rocket as it was taking off. Pretending that I was delivering a pizza. I slipped right by security. And next thing I knew, bang. We were lifting off. And someone said, “put on a seat belt, kid!” And I did. And away we went. Up into the sky. And then we were on the moon. Just like that.

And I remember stepping outside and just floating into the space of the moon. I remember the glow. There was this painting of Neil Armstrong there. Hanging on a single, man-made wall. It looked like he built it himself.

And after I got my bearings, Karl (the guy I was with) and I setup a picnic right there in a crater. We had space lemonade and starwiches. That’s what he called them. We enjoyed our lunch and left the crumbs for the space ants. Then we went back to the ship, left the moon and made our way back to earth.

But I don’t know when I woke up. That’s part of the reason I believed it.

And who knows really. Who’s to say what’s real and what’s not? You know? What if dreams are reality and reality is just a dream? Where does that put us? Then I’m only a liar for telling you I was lying. And we, as Americans, are probably wasting way too much time sleeping. Am I right?

It’s a lot to process.

Anyway, I’m sorry for the confusion. But for what it’s worth, it’s gorgeous… the moon. Pearly colored and soft. You should go there. You’d really like it.

Flying First Class

Holy… crap. Have you ever flown first class?! It is freaking paradise. It’s beyond paradise. It’s paradise’s paradise. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like waking up to a snow day as a kid — except all of the snow is cotton candy. That’s first class.

Honestly, if you’ve never done it, and you can’t afford to do it for the rest of your life… stay away. It’s too dangerous. Once you’ve gone there, you can’t go back. I’m not even kidding. It is a cold, wicked, heavenly drug.

I’ve loathed first class for as long as I’ve been flying. Rich people throwing money away to feel privileged? Gross. “Elitist bastards!” I’ve shouted from the back of the plane.

But now I get it. And it took less than ten minutes of scotch sipping and revelling with new comrades before I was making jokes about the longing looks we were receiving from the peasants behind us. I even requested that the flight attendant close the curtain. That’s how quickly I sold out.

So please heed my warning. I know paradise’s paradise sounds nice. And it is. But no one is strong enough to unhear this siren song. And it. will. ruin. you.

I got off that plane, and a little bit of first class came with me. I’m refusing to do chores, forcing Ashley to towel me off after I shower, and last night I demanded that we hire a chauffeur.

I’m not even typing this blog post. I’m dictating it to a small boy that I hired.

All I’m saying is that it’s the best, worst thing that will ever happen to you. And it’s not worth it. It might not be worth it. It’s kind of worth it.

You can stop there, slave boy. No, don’t type that part. Dammit.