Thirty Two Problems And A Bitch Ain’t One.

Last year on my birthday I made many hilarious references to Pearl Harbor. This year I’ll simply reflect on birthdays past, and there’s been a lot of them. Last year we all had dinner in the South End. The year before that was the big 3-0, and I organized a huge party for myself (as you do) at Tiernans which was thwarted by the largest snow storm Boston had seen in years. The year before that, Janet organized a party at Harvard Gardens which was a lot of fun – I sang all the way home in the cab, and then made everyone wait until the song was over until we got out.

Prior to that it starts to get fuzzy. I think 28 might have been at Silvertone. 26 or 27 was a surprise party at Janet’s old place in Inman square. Before that I was in England, and that year they midread the birthdate on my work papers at the pub (they reverse the month and date when reading it metrically) and shocked me with a cake on the 12th of July. Yesterday, my workmates took me out for lunch, also mistaking the numeral 7 for the square root of “DERRR”.

But it’s the thought that counts, and I always have fun with good friends around. This year it’s subdued – some Greek food in Watertown and then early to bed before an important meeting tomorrow. Thank you all for putting up with me for so long, and here’s to another longevitus 32 for all of us.