Bonne fête à moi

I'd like to take a moment to publicly thank my Friends for fêting me with style yesterday, as the hour of my 31st birthday approached--they know how to put a smile on an old man's face. It was, I think, the first proper Birthday Party of my adult life. Usually I throw together something dinky at the last hour; last year's mini-party in the Victoria Park waterfall, for instance, was picturesque, high on charm but low on birthday-related boisterousness. There was definitely something to be said for this year's more debaucherous cut--five gallons of heavy hooch, three kinds of cole slaw, a DJ playing booty jams and a kiddie pool with inflatable throne upon which I drunkenly reclined, receiving gifts and feeling like a Pharaoh, or at least an LA playboy. Even better, the fifteen minutes of pure love bestowed on me by merry alchemists Shree Shrine, whose performance was an embarassment of riches featuring prayer bowls, freshly-popped popcorn, a five-minute volley of party poppers, half of which landed in my lap, confetti everywhere and an incredibly sincere version of this song, which I wrote and recorded in an hour way back in 2006. The whole thing was just off-the-charts sweet. Followed by full-blooded rock-n-roll testifying from Bret Koontz and John Wheatley--couple-a guitar-wielding hotheads with whom Secret Beach readers might be familiar--including a rousing, reach-for-the-stars rendition of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now from John that gave me a crucial second wind, several cups deep into the hooch as I was. That and the fine weather, bounty of delectable foodtuffs, plentiful inebriants and all-around excellent company made for a special evening that tickled me in all the right places. Thanks, y'all!