The Plan - 25th Birthday

Grateful sigh of relief.

I have now officially, safely arrived at the age of 25 without so much as a scratch. I should have been R.I.P. totalled along with my 0ld Civic back on the old 10 freeway last June, but for some reason I am still walking around alive. What can I say? I'm lucky. Bringing God into it would be against my particular brand of grain, unless I'm attempting to sing "The Wind" by Cat Stevens. Rather than feel guilty that Johnnys Ramone and Cash had to die this year instead of me, I might as well just swallow the bullet, feel fortunate that the Grim Reaper didn't think I was good enough this time, and make the most of the chance I have to live a little bit longer. Whether I really deserve it is up to me.

So, like any good journal writer (who would like nothing better than to go back and laugh at this when she's 40), I'm phasing out a list of things I would like to do now that I've had the fuck-I'm-lucky-to-be-alive feeling beaten senseless into my disaffected consciousness.

1. Earn M.S. in library science.

2. Become a rebellious, renegade librarian committed to the proliferation of information, free speech, and the advocacy of people learning how to educate and think for themselves (rather than relying on all those jokers who control what's on your television...believe me, I know how they got to where they are today...it's not pretty.).

3. Continue writing about rock music, politics, the secular Heaven, fine print, paranoid analysis, the self-indulgent selfish self-help industry, corporate Republican scandal, the reasons why they stopped manufacturing the Grumpy Care Bear, etc. And that "etc." is not messing around. It might as well be infinity, my friend. Record everything. Leave no stone unturned, no dream uninterpreted, no picture of Tom Delay without the word "liar" tagged across the top of his toupe. Even if you know for a fact that what you're writing will be read by a total of one complete person, write it. That didn't stop you when you were in third grade; there's no reason why it should stop you now. You don't do "writer's block," so take advantage of all the more talented writers' writer's blocks and get a ahead of the competition while they're out of commission. Hurry, while you're still young, somewhat hip, while they're still giving away book deals to female bloggers out on Madison Avenue. So your blog isn't a "relationship" blog - there's still time to change it from "Trademark Goo" to "Sensationally Single." What? 'No way,' you say? Okay. Nevermind. Good luck getting published in this mass media.

4. Move away from Los Angeles to a city with a smaller population, crummier weather (rain prefered, but I can do snow), a nonexistent film-television industry, a real central downtown, and a healthier self-image.

5. Help those who are less fortunate than you. No, this isn't bullshit rhetoric. Listen up. Your first 25 years have been completely selfish and materialistic. I'm ashamed to even call you my self. You claim to be outraged about Congress giving space exploration fiscal priority ahead of the poor, disenfranchised salt of the Earth, but look in the mirror and reflect. You spent 4 years in a privileged, snobby, know-it-all alcoholic bubble known as college, Miss Lonely, but you know you only used to get juiced in it. Your last two-and-a-half years in the working world have been gobbled by the dysfunctional profit-minded hub of the television industry, the play-it-safe uptight marketing cog of the movie industry, and a month-long self-depreciating, pathetic bout with unemployment. You work too much, write too much, play too much soccer, drive too much, practice too much yoga, drink too much, and think WAY too much about your love life.

6. Create opportunities for exciting love life! Walk down a beach hand-in-hand with a guy who is better looking than you (might want to try this before you move away from L.A.). Find another musician, this time one who doesn't squander his immense talent as a guitar player on a set of turntables with really bland house music. Go out on a date with a clean-cut, corpr-attractive Republican, then turn in into a sexual tension-filled debate where both sides end up winning. Visit Las Vegas, have fling with a dealer, have him teach you all the tricks so you can develop new "life skill" in case your librarian career doesn't work out. The possibilities to play this game are endless. Find them. Who knows? One might end up being your partner in crime. And I know it sounds impossible, but you might fall in love again. Stop rolling your eyes, young lady. It'll happen when you least expect it. Let it blossom like a flower in a room with no sunlight.

7. If your card counting plan proves to be more trouble than it's worth, your should keep another reliable career "fall back" on deck. Start a band. You on guitar and vocals. Band veteran roommate on bass and vocals. Drum machine. Song lyric material consists of everything written (see #3 for reference). There's also a poetic goldmine in President Bush speech copy, with intermittent Cheney quips spliced in for seasoning, but you should save that card to play on a song musically akin to "Stairway to Heaven" as to ensure you "do something political" before your induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

8. Outlive your parents. They didn't bring you up and put your ass through school with the intention of spreading your ashes in their backyard.