Historically, April 19th is day that for a lot of people is somewhat of a condemned day on the calendar. Some might consider it a day of death:
- In 1993, fires ravaged in Waco, Texas, ending a 51-day standoff between supposed cultists and the FBI resulting in about 80 human casualties.
- In 1995, Timothy McVeigh detonates a truck filled with explosives in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Downtown Oklahoma City that killed 168 people, as well as injuring close to 700.
- In 1997, floods ravaged the Dakotas, resulting in the destruction of eleven buildings and ruining countless homes and lives.
- There was a brief hiatus of April 19th tragedies for the next decade or so, as the insane seemed to have missed the mark by a day or so (April 20, 1999 – Columbine Shootings, April 22, 2000 – Elian Gonzalez is extradited back to Cuba, April 16, 2007 – Virginia Tech Massacre), but in 2007, a crazy Haji suicide bomber drove his explosive-filled vehicle into a tanker, causing an explosion that killed 12 and injured 34 more.
But it’s not all death and tragedy; three very well-known professional athletes were born on April 19th: In 1981, Troy Polamalu, the wild-haired strong safety for the Pittsburgh Steelers who covers, well, the non-aquatic covered Earth was born. In 1983, the franchise of the Minnesota Twins and sabermetric Triple Crown winner, catcher Joe Mauer was born. In 1987, arguably the prize package of women’s tennis, Maria Sharapova was born.
So what’s the point of all this? If it isn’t already obvious, it’s because April 19th is my birthday.
I’m 28 now. That means, I’m peaking into my optimum power years, and my “man-power” will manifest; if I were to go to the batting cages between now and the age of 32, I should technically be capable of crushing baseballs to the moon, or at least across the street. Otherwise, there is nothing else special about turning 28. I could drink (legally) at 21, I could rent cars without egregious premiums at 25, and then there’s really nothing else until I’m 65, when I can qualify for AARP, and get some wicked discounts everywhere I go from there on. And casinos will likely be a lot nicer to me then too.
But not to say that I’m down about my birthday the least bit. I may be at work today at a job I dislike because I need the hours, but I’m not resentful for it. Nobody here knows about my birthday, which is fine with me. My family’s all wished me well today, and I can’t ask for much more from them. And later tonight, there will hopefully be a pleasant dining experience with some barbecue and $1 drafts.
I suppose I’m at the age where I need to think about my future more. I’m still single and fairly aimless with the direction of my life, but I suppose what I’d like to aspire to do in the next year, and hopefully before I’m 30, is nail down a full-time job that isn’t going to make me feel as homicidal as all the aforementioned tragedies too often, and perhaps be somewhere in a meaningful relationship with a girl I might consider marrying. Preferably one with doe-eyes, nice rack, yoga ass, and doesn’t mind my love of baseball, video games, and all my other idiosyncrasies. It’s my birthday, I can get away with this shit at least today, not that I wouldn’t say it any of the other 364 days of the year.
But anyway, Happy Birthday to me. I’ve already gotten one half of my desired present, which was a Braves win yesterday, with a heroic, come-from-behind, game-winning hit in the bottom of the 9th inning against the Rockies, and hopefully I’ll get the other half with a win against the hated Phillies tomorrow night. Anything else, from anyone else, is simply gravy.
