nevermind
Birthdays seem important to us, celebratory, a birthday party; announced on Facebook; the first Sunday of each month everyone whose birthday falls in that month comes up to be recognized, song, Happy birthday, we love you then the second verse May the good Lord bless you. Me, I'm not a limelight person, my favorite seat in classrooms was always in the far back where I mistakenly thought the teacher wouldn't notice or bother me. Did you know that the best seat in class is front row so people don't turn around and stare at you as you answer "I don't know" or with a blank look of ignorance? I didn't realize that until years too late.
As part of anonymity, on my facebook page I've changed my birthday so many times that the last time I did it FB said "this is the last time you can change your birthday," and it wouldn't accept that I was born January 1, 1900, I guess you can't fool Facebook, IDK. My current birthday on FB is not my birthday at all but they won't let me shift it around out of sight anymore.
Speaking of magazines, I wasn't but I was thinking of magazines, all my real life as a Navy officer and later in business I had two favorite magazines for reading on airplane trips across country from WashDC to Seattle, SanFrancisco, or LosAngeles or to Sydney, especially if I traveled first or business with free scotch: The Atlantic, where I always found the journalism competent and which sometimes had articles relevant to my defense-related occupation, and The New Yorker. Both among numerous other things now come in my email, but I don't subscribe financially to any of them because (1) the volume of it gets overwhelming so now I just read headlines and synopses and (2) they want your credit card so they can let you slide into automatic renewal and out of sight forever, and if you ever decide to cancel it's almost gardenia impossible to figure out how.
But all dozen or so of what comes in email (except The Washington Post) let me have five or ten articles a month before they cut me off (after WaPo finds out you're reading, they cut you off altogether and flash rubbish like "we see you admire great journalism, you can read this article by subscribing," even though their journalism isn't any better than anyone else), and I try to be selective about what I click on to read my allowance of full articles. This morning by error I goofily clicked on what it didn't occur to me would be a countable article, about birthdays,
which turned out relevant for my state of mind and consciousness at the hour. Besides the regular stuff, The New Yorker has a comic or comedy or humor issue that arrives in email about once a week, this article was in it, and a series of cartoons where folks can suggest captions, worth checking out; along with their regular cartoons, here a series of, then scroll down to the birthday piece I copy and pasted. Nevermind the political one
The Plan for Ruby’s Unsurprisingly Terrible Surprise Party
Thanks for coming, everyone. It’s so nice to see Ruby’s friends and less nice to see their significant others, many of whom we do not like, gathered here tonight. I wanted to go over the plans one more time so that when Ruby gets here she can just hyper-focus on not enjoying herself at all.
O.K., first, I have Jeff down as totally having blanked on picking up the cake and instead bringing something like two dozen doughnuts from the Dunkin’ across the street. He should also be forgetting plates and forks, so don’t worry—we don’t have that covered. If someone else wouldn’t mind running to the nearest bodega to see if it has candles, finding out that it doesn’t, and then giving up on the task immediately, that would be super unhelpful!
Next up, we have Sarah, Ruby’s good friend from work, who Ruby always worried wouldn’t get along with the rest of us, which is correct. So, Sarah, if you wouldn’t mind glomming on to Ruby the second she steps through the door, like some sort of baby duck who accidentally imprinted on its human caretaker, that would be great.
Let’s see—that brings me to Georgia, who has graciously signed up to channel her rage over someone else being the center of attention into an inflated emotional crisis about something completely irrelevant. I know that we haven’t talked specifics, but I think a niche and personal non-issue—like your camp boyfriend who is about to get married following you on Instagram—would really make Ruby’s night special for all the wrong reasons. If you want to go for something broader, like a crying fit vis-à-vis sudden and overwhelming guilt about “not being a better roommate,” that works, too. What is most important is that you’re here, and already atrociously drunk.
All right, we’re cutting it close on time, but a few final things before Ruby arrives.
Could someone text a friend who is in town for the weekend and ask him to stop by? That way he can bring all the other people he’s visiting who don’t know or care about Ruby at all, and then they can drink all of our beer and leave after an hour. Also, is anyone willing to stay after and suggest that we “keep the fun going” by pushing for an amorphous activity like “going to a diner” or “karaoke somewhere” even though we all want to go to bed? I know I speak for everyone when I say that we would really not appreciate it.
O.K., guys, I think I see her coming. Get ready in three . . . two . . . one—
I see that she stopped on her front stoop to pick a huge, relationship-shattering fight with her boyfriend! Great, really selfish job, everyone.