by Brian Keith Giovannini
For those who may not know, Monday was my birthday. I am now officially 22. I would like to thank all those persons who gave me gifts, turning it into one of the best days of the year for me.
As much as I'd like to thank my family members, they seemed to be the only ones who decided not to send the very best. But that's OK; they managed to call and break my Internet connection repeatedly.
Kudos to my former employers at Learning Support Services who started out my day by giving me a termination notice. Although I probably deserved it, my boss's cheesy, half-hearted, "Happy birthday. I sincerely mean it," was really unnecessary.
Also, special thanks go to State Trooper Roberson, who gave me a wonderful speeding ticket for going 91 in a 70 mph zone. Gee thanks, but my cruise control was set on 85.
What is it with these dudes patrolling I-10? Are they staking out some sort of Thelma-and-Louise combo I'm not familiar with, or are they just there to harass peaceful motorists?
Congratulations to Mother Nature for giving all of us a most irksome gift -- this unsatisfying weather.
Each time I broach this topic, however, I am reminded of a notable passage written by Norton Juster in his literary masterpiece, The Phantom Tollbooth. A young lad, lost in a world of idioms and puns, approaches the weatherman. That's right, the weatherman. After all, it is more important to know whether there will be weather than what the weather will be.
Unfortunately, discussions of the weather in today's society are considered somewhat blas. Nowadays, poor Norton Juster would have found himself burned at a stake fueled by his paperbacks.
Many happy returns to that special someone who was choking me with her tongue on Thursday, introducing me to another guy on Sunday, and giving me the heave-ho on my birthday. (So much for the rational egoist approach.)
Thanks to my friend, Andrew, who actually bought me a useful Roger Waters CD and cheered me up through most of the day. (See, my column isn't all bitter.)
Cheers to Beavis and Butt-head. Although they neglected to bestow a gift upon me, these poster children for Mad Cow Disease have managed to make life oh so much more tolerable. Heh-heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh. *Blam* *Blam* Shut up! Aaaargh!
Finally, I must applaud the people at Bank of America. Sure, they haven't received a payment for my Visa Gold since December, but they still haven't cut me off.
Who was I to know that my bill would be lost, my check would bounce, and my card would be lost in the mail? I guess with credit, all will go well.
Giovannini is a bitter old man.