A birthday is nothing if not an individualized New Year.1  Shall we consider my 238th year in summary?

Los Angeles
Washington, DC
Salt Lake City
Los Angeles
Phnom Penh
Angkor Wat
Bali, Indonesia
Hong kong
Yunnan province, China
Buenos Aires
Patagonia region, Argentina

I will spare you an enumeration of my unseemly behavior.  Just know that such a dossier would be voluminous, and despicable.

As for goals and resolutions, these are folly, no?  By this age, it must be true that we are  hardened clay.  The ports of opportunity have closed.  Nothing left to do but wind up our ball of string and say goodnight.

I imagine in some world of invention, in the whimsy of my eye, I would have been a photojournalist, traveling, taking well-regarded photographs, annotating said pictures with delightful poems and short stories, alternating the dark and the saccharine, perhaps even posting these creations on a well-trafficked website of my own creation, powered by a CMS of my own assembly, all sweat from my brow protected, natch, by well-negotiated rights and royalties.

  1. Or, if you like, New Year’s is   one giant collective birthday party for the world. []


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