So I got up early in hopes of projecting an image of the sun onto a white piece of paper in order to see a tiny black dot crossing the sun. Unfortunately, the northeastern sky was full of clouds, so I went back to bed and will try again in 2012.
Astrology enthusiasts would probably say that a transit of Venus on my birthday is a significant portent of … something — but I don't listen to astrology enthusiasts.*
And yes, it's my birthday. I am now 36 years old.
Men's clothing manufacturers will assume that before my birthday I was 34, and that next year I will be 38. This is how they seem to think the world works — in two-step increments leaping between even numbers. This is a source of frustration for people whose inseams and sleeve-lengths are odd-numbered.
And but so anyway I am now only 10 years younger than Phil Niekro was when he retired. This means that if I work hard and spend the next seven years perfecting my knuckleball, I could still pitch in the big leagues for a good three seasons. (Or perhaps it's time for Plan B.)
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* How to have fun at the expense of an astrology enthusiast:
When someone asks you what your sign is, tell them you're a Leo (unless you actually are a Leo, in which case, tell them something else).
After they get finished telling you how they suspected as much and listing all the ways in which "you're such a Leo," tell them that you were just kidding — that you're actually an Aries.
A fervent astrology enthusiast will point out that lying about your sign is a typically Aries thing to do and will tell you that actually Aries would have been their first guess.
At this point, say "Aries is the one with the crab, right? I'm the one with the crab."
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