I hate birthdays. I thought that I only hated my own birthday, and then I realized that I hate my children’s birthdays too.
~ Samantha Bee
I’ve been writing this blog for one whole year. I am so proud of myself. For a sprinter, as I’ve called myself in a previous post, a year is forever. My brain has grown a muscle it didn’t even know existed – persistence. Every month except last October when I was out of town and then landed at LAX with a bad cold from recycled airplane germs, I’ve put up a post.
This year’s 30 Days/30 Posts September Challenge has shown me the value of deadlines, even when they’re just an attempt at a personal best that only I will care about. It’s amazing what a little fear about the blog date flipping to the next day will do for you. Watch those fingers fly across the keys. I laugh at you, perfectionist gremlin!
This month I’ve enjoyed a chuckle-filled reunion with my old self - the humorist who will always choose comedies over dramas when left in charge of the remote.
Over a decade ago I wrote a humor column for almost two years for a local section of the Los Angeles Times. My very first published essay ever was in 7th grade in the school literary magazine. It was a laugh-a-minute sketch about my aunt and uncle’s French poodle. It’s somewhere in the clutter in the garage so you’ll just have to take my word for it, but I killed.
I even remember where I was when I nailed the first laugh outside the family dinner table. Sitting at my desk during current events, sixth grade, something about oil, the US and the Ruskies. That’s what I recall from the punch line I blurted out. I wish I could remember the setup but I sure remember the class breaking out in laughter.
Comedy is how I cope with the world. There’s nothing like a good sarcastic turn of phrase to take the edge off your troubles and neuroses.
Along with humor, in the coming Blog Year #2 you can expect some template changes, some freshening up, a rotating of the photo stock with new views from my upcoming autumn journeys.
Plus lots more social commentary about what makes me chuckle or roll my eyes with disbelief.
So on the count of three, let’s belt out a rousing chorus of birthday cheer while I run and get the Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream. You did know that calories don’t count on your birthday, didn’t you?