Happy anniversary, reader! If you can believe it or not, we’ve been together for one whole year. Where are my flowers? You didn’t even send a card.
Incidentally, my first Slanted Spines article was posted on my birthday last year, so that also means I am a whole year older. Boy, I thought I was wise when I turned twenty, but now that I’m twenty-one I’m way wiser. In fact, I’m essentially at the precipice of “wise.” I couldn’t get any wiser if I wanted to.
I mean, this past year I learned a lot of valuable things. I learned that Drake (not Kanye) sings Hotline Bling, and that Kanye and Yeezy are the same person (although I’m still trying to figure out who Slim Shady is and why he sounds so much like Eminem). I learned a whole lot about DNA and RNA and cell reproduction and then proceeded to forget it all, but I did learn it at some point and it’s in there somewhere so it still counts as knowledge. I found out that they don’t make brown Chuck Taylors anymore and that it is actually very possible to blow a 3-1 lead in an NBA championship. There was also a realization that the Grand Canyon is very big and very old; Mary Kay consultants apparently get very offended when you confuse their brand with Avon. Moreover, Chipotle’s patio is closed in February no matter how unseasonably warm the weather is, and in conclusion, ciabatta is actually a type of bread.
Of course, being twenty-one also means I can drink alcohol for the very first time ever in my whole life. I went bar-hopping with a group of friends for my birthday and truthfully I felt as though I was getting away with something I shouldn’t have; at each bar, the grumpy-looking character sitting on a stool would briefly scrutinize my license and then gesture me through, and I kept thinking, “Really? You’re letting me in? Are you sure I’m allowed? It’s that easy?” Plus, it was 12:30 a.m. of my birthday– the fools! They had no idea I wasn’t born until 7:50 a.m. and I was still technically twenty. Ha!
Other than my birthday night, I actually haven’t used my powers yet (the power to purchase alcohol). I know; I’m kind of surprised, too. I guess it’s just not convenient for me to drink and go to class/drink and go to work/drink and write essays. I mean, I’m sure my boss would be impressed with my “Bring Your Beer to Work Day” idea, but I have a hunch it’s just a little too progressive for this day and age. Maybe next year.
Being old is great because it basically gives you automatic credibility to your advice. No matter how lame your judgment is, people have to respect your advice because you have “experience” on your side, even if you can hardly remember the experience because it was so long ago. “Don’t worry about the specifics of the driver’s test– just get close enough.” The only time when your advice is rendered invalid is when it comes to “coolness.” Your twelve-year-old cousin probably won’t buy it if you tell her middle school boys are really into inner beauty. Even then, she has to respect your advice to your face though even if she totally disregards it.
So my own personal advice, as an elder, to all you young folk, is to brush your teeth only once a day, don’t vote because it’s a waste of time, and to surpress your true identity in order to be excepted by the masses. Trust me: I’m old.
Anyway, as the oldest and wisest person I know, I’m gonna go eat my dinner (chocolate chip cookies), ignore my homework, and play some Mario Kart. At least in my old age I still maintain some aspects of my youth, though– my love for solitaire, my listenership to NPR, and my desired 9 p.m. bedtime.