39

It is my birthday today. I’ve turned 39, which I must say is a pretty unspectacular number. It isn’t mathematically interesting like a prime or a square, nor is it one of those milestone years that I am supposed to be dreading or anticipating. I took the day off, but not so much because of any desire to celebrate my aging, but to facilitate a long visit to the dentist. Already, you can see that I really know how to ‘live large.’

The dentist had a lot to say about the state of my mouth. I’ve been quite remiss in my duties as the keeper of my oral cavity. For all my lack of effort, and general reticence to go to the dentist, I have earned myself another root canal and a lot of scraping. My dentist is a skilled and dedicated man, with a passel of kids and a jet ski. It gives me comfort to know that I’m helping him pay for all the luxuries of a life in the suburban dream. Almost second to that, I have the comfort of knowing that I’m a bit less likely to become one of the ‘toothless Joes’ that seem to populate the local buses.

Almost as an afterthought to my dental hedonism, I went and saw Captain America with Mrs. Portmandia. It was a satisfying festival of Nazi punching, dame swooning, and PG-13 disintegrations. It left me with a wonderful reminder that it is great to be ‘nice’ guy with ‘good’ intentions, but unless you get big and muscled and start punching things, you just aren’t going to get anywhere in life.

Okay, enough of my wisdom. I want a beer.