It's my birthday today. Happy birthday to me. I am thirty two. That's two to the fifth. I'll probably only be a factor of two one more time in my life. Probably.
I just finished reading "Scott Pilgrim." It took me about three days to read a work of art that took Brian Lee O'Malley six years to create. That doesn't count the time between when I bought the first three books and the second. Also, I read "Lost at Sea" as well.
I'm gonna talk about Scott Pilgrim. I'll try not to do any spoilers, but if you're waiting for the movie you may want to just skip this rant until after you've seen it.
I was in a pretty awesome mood today. I was actually awake for my entire birthday eve. I woke up last midnight, spent the night doing my job and got a huge, satisfying load of work done. Then I realized I have a good job and I'm allowed to spend a little money, so I went birthday shopping. I got a bunch of new clothes at REI, a Bull Horn at Fry's, the rest of Scott Pilgrim (I got 1-3 last week) and some Q-tips. I was out of Q-tips. Then I picked up Josh at work and the whole Seattle gang went to Josh's house to talk loudly while Josh's wife tried to watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer through our cacophony, because Tuesdays are Buffy Night. We also made pesto.
I was happy.
Then I got home and started reading Scott Pilgrim. I just finished like 5 minutes ago. I've been up for 24 hours, I should be sleeping, but instead I'm up thinking.
Scott Pilgrim is good. Its really, really good. Its also the single most melancholy thing I have ever experienced. It hit me kinda close to home, on a bunch of levels. So now I feel all melancholy about myself and my life on my birthday.
I don't like it. Not one bit.