Note: I started writing this back on Monday, but I got distracted. Then I passed out in the recliner while reading Woolf. To all the birthday well-wishers in comments, thank you, because karma or some bullshit made this one of the best birthdays I've had in years (bonus thanks to my cookie donor; I have my suspicions). Anyways, pretend it's January 26 all over again and allow me to take you through the many mini-triumphs of that brisk, sunny winter day.

And suddenly everything has changed

Well, today's the big day: twenty-three. A birthday calls for reflection, I suppose, and I should do it now before I go obliterate some memories with booze. Ah, but at this late stage in the game, with my best years behind me, I don't feel like doing either anymore. I spent enough time reflecting this weekend as I drove to San Antonio and back without my missing stereo face. When I got sleepy, or when I got some annoying song stuck in my head ("Ooh, girl, you gots a fine-ass pussy" —Snoop), I used my steering wheel as a tripod and took some long exposures of the road as I drove with my Optio. Like a game of dice, this amuses me because it requires no talent. The pictures come out as random assortments of light and motion, and it's interesting to see patterns in the randomness — a kind of photographic inkblot.





(Here are a few others, some quite large so you can get a close look.)

I spent yesterday at my aunt and uncle's new house in San Antonio. Jimmie manuevered to get the final posting of his Air Force career in S.A., and they're there for good now. At different times both Jimmie and Diana made reference to the fact that they're going to die in this house, although they seemed more relieved to be settled than morbid. They gave us a tour among all the unpacked boxes, around the freshly sodded back yard, and through all their plans for the future. "We're gonna put a pool table up here." "I'll probably put the pool over there." "This room's going to be a study of sorts, I guess." "I'm not sure what to do with that space up there." The house is really magnificent: three large bedrooms, four and half baths, good size yard, a nice and open living space. I took some "before" pictures, while they still had stereo wires on the floor and nothing hanging from the walls. It struck me that photographs don't get enough credit for also capturing potential, everyone's so obsessed with memories.

Thinking about their house as I drove, I realized that it represents one of the few certainties in my future. With two of the four sisters from my mom's family in one town, it will become a natural gathering spot, and Diana and Jimmie's house will be the obvious meeting place. I don't have any idea where I'll be even four months from now, but I know where I'll be coming back to. Out of the chaos of what's coming, I could suddenly put an image to one place. As I rolled down I-35, I daydreamed about Christmases and summers at the Simmons's house, what my kids will look like, and which filthy-rich celebrity I'm going to end up marrying.

The trip to San Antonio provided a needed break from a disastrous start to the weekend. I was supposed to go home on Friday with Grady, but I managed to talk myself out of this plan with several different rationalizations: (A) I was dog-tired after waking up for my 9 a.m. class, (B) I wanted to go play basketball Friday afternoon, (C) I hadn't been to a 'Horns game all season, and they were playing OSU Saturday afternoon. Back in high school, Danny and my friend John examined my personality traits — short, overly-exciteable, clumsy, and no luck but bad luck — and decided that, were I a Seinfeld character, I'd be George. Those of you familiar with the show will remember the episode in which George says, "It all became very clear to me sitting out there today, that every decision I've ever made, in my entire life, has been wrong. ... Every instinct I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat ... It's all been wrong." And Jerry responds, "If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right." Well, I can't tell you how many times I've felt like this, and this weekend looked like it would be more of the same.

Friday afternoon, after taking half an hour to drive to the wrong court, I realize my friends were playing at Adams Park, merely a block away. We get in one game before some other dudes we don't know walk up and want to join. Big, athletic black guy with an African accent joins my team. We start the second game. Big, athletic black guy clobbers me in mid-air as we both try to block the shot of the guy I'm guarding. My big, althetic white calf gets stuck under my big, flabby white thigh as I crumple to the ground, and my ankle gets caught under me and *pop* — sprained again.

Instincts: 0 for 1.

So I gimp home in pain, where there's an IM waiting from Seemay inviting me to a party that night. I pass on account of throbbing ankle and general stankiness. The next day she tells me I should've gone; there were a lot of girls there. She herself made three new girl friends, which puts my fall semester to shame.

Instincts: 0 for 2.

I drag out of bed to go to UT basketball game with Long. We park and start walking toward the Erwin Center. Then we notice the large groups of people walking away from the Erwin Center. UT, who didn't have a sell-out ever until this year, has now had two in the past two games. We watch it at Posse; Horns lose.

Instincts: 0 for 3, but I did get my Frito pie on.

Already facing a dreaded silent hour-and-a-half drive home, I notice The Nothing moving in from the east. Down comes the rain in torrents and my windshield, at 65 mph, becomes fogged glass. When I get home, I find out Grady gave one of his chatty, hot friends a ride home with him, in perfect weather, which would've made for a much more pleasant commute.

Instincts: 0 for 4. I am George Costanza.

I got back to Austin late last night. I had one cup off coffee at 9 p.m., so of course I can't sleep until about 4.30 in the morning. Amazingly, I wake up three and a half hours later, wide awake, ready to start the day. Usually this early, instead of being chipper, I look, as Walsh describes it, "like you just slept on the pavement." And I didn't hit the snooze button once this morning, so I had a few extra minutes to get to class. One might say it was the opposite of every other morning. When I walk out the door, things are already looking up.



Pretty cool shot before the clouds burned off. Now off to my Bible as Literature class. The first couple class days I had coincidentally sat by this cute, soft-spoken girl with short brown hair (you know where this is going). I started to notice some similarities between us. She's left handed. I am left handed. She wears Cat in the Hat socks. I wear Tick shirts. She and I both laughed at our professor's jokes. She's not-really-but-kinda-sorta a Christian. Me too. So today, after class, when I notice that she and I are walking up the six pack next to each other, I take Jerry's advice: "Well here's your chance to try the opposite. Instead of tuna salad and being intimidated by women, chicken salad and going right up to them." So I run some mad game. Okay, actually I just start chatting with her about the class. But it's pleasant, she's got a nice smile. Turns out I was right: we were both raised Methodist by parents who are still very religious, although neither of us have been to church in years. We intoduce each other, then go our separate ways. When I feel my chest unclench, I realize that for the first time in ... six months? twelve? I've got a full-out middle-school crush on a girl, and this kind of excites me. I'm not sure if this means I'm a child at heart, immature, pathetic, whatever — it feels good, and it's my birthday.

Then it's back home, where instead of sitting around reading blogs and taking naps, I do the opposite and run errands. I go to the post office and mail Lynnette some CDs full of pictures, express mail, for only five bucks. Hell yeah, I'd been putting that off for too long. Shirking procrastination again, I go directly to the Camera Co-op and finally, after almost a year, price a replacement lense for my enlarger. It's better than I could have dreamed: $50 bucks, although they don't have the one I need at the Co-op. Come home, check online, and someplace in Washington state has it for $40. I'm ecstatic. I renew my driver's license. I finally get rid of our matchstick Christmas tree. I start cleaning up my room, and, lo, I find my CD face. I get my Nintendo hooked up again, and for the first time in months I play some fucking Tetris. That night, while I assemble my Lego basketball set (with flip-action jump-shooting Lego guys), and against all odds, the crowd, and some shitty refs, the Longhorns make a miraculous comeback to beat Tech in overtime on ESPN. Afterwards, some friends take me to Hoover's. Lemonade, chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and maccaroni and cheese. I even get dessert. Finally, I come home, and I happily pass out in my recliner at 10 p.m.

Thanks, everyone, because today beat ass.

P.S. The next night happened to be Chris Gregory's birthday, and I went to his show down on 6th. Immediately following the show, I stepped out of The Vibe and saw this:





I really can't decide which composition I like better. Any thoughts? Either way, what I'm really impressed with is my Optio. I took these on a tripod, using about a 4-5 x optical zoom. Check out the raw versions here (horizontal) and here (vertical) to see how sharp these are. The horizontal big one, by the way, makes an excellent desktop.

Oh, and I didn't talk to my Bible girl today, even though I sat right next to her (got to class late). I'm trying to, you know, play it cool, not seem to overeager. Then again, I followed my instinct. Instead of worrying about appearing desperate, or the fact that I looked all grizzled and unshaven, I should've just followed George once again:

Victoria : Are you growing a beard?
George : Why shave every day? It just grows right back.
Victoria : I guess ...
George : I'm afraid I'm just not interested in how I present myself. If those kind of superficialities are important to you, this probably isn't gonna work.

...

Victoria : Are you sure you don't wanna come up, I mean, it's only nine thirty.
George : I don't think we should. We really don't know each other very well.
Victoria : Who are you, George Costanza?
George : I'm the opposite of every guy you've ever met.