Stay out of the sun
Stay in perfect shape
And be number one
We’ve got brilliant excuses
For having no fun
So just blow out the candles
Carly Simon, Happy Birthday
July 21st is my birthday, a ripe occasion to throw my desires and dreams for the coming year out into the universe. Here’s hoping some idle fairy takes pity on this poor mortal and skewers life my way. My wishes, in no particular order:
That trifling motorists curb their cars instead of idling in Manhattan’s bicycle lanes.
That Gay City News hires a decent proofreader.
That my corner fruit vendor stops trying to make me buy more than I can eat.
That my doctor doesn’t argue when I want to see a specialist.
That interest rates on student loans drop.
That I see my friends with greater frequency than the year before.
That train-hopping MP3 users take pity on their fellow passengers and turn down the volume.
That my boyfriend believes me when I say it’s not a criticism, just an observation.
That Annette Bening has a Broadway triumph.
That my propensity for tardiness abates.
That the NY Post reveals an ongoing affair between Anderson Cooper and CBS’s local weatherman Lonnie Quinn.
That dawdling Times Square tourists acquire spatial awareness.
That I’ll shake off the suspicion my accountant is laughing at me.
That my barber will learn how to pronounce my name.
That my manners aren’t mistaken for wimpiness.
That I get to take a vacation on a beach.
That I won’t get caught in the rain.
That my mother realizes I love her despite my infrequent calls.
That the coming years squash my growing cynicism.
That my new neighbors cast a deaf ear to my music and my lovemaking.
That the terrorists run out of bombs.
That I never lose my precious patience.
That I grow comfortable with change.
(photo courtesy of the author)