On My Way...

When most people go to New York, they go to a big-time Broadway show like Phantom or Les Miz or the Lion King. Expensive, splashy, touristy stuff.

Normally, I get really excited about those big commercial shows.

Not this time.

No, THIS is what I'm excited about as I prepare for my weekend trip to the Big Apple:

The world-famous CAT CIRCUS! Who needs Stanislavski when you've got acrobat cats? Maybe there will even be some cat juggling! I hear a flea circus is showing right next door...

I'll be leaving Everycity tomorrow morning and returning Sunday evening. Bon voyage to me!

Seriously, this cat looks like it's having the time of its life.

Remembering of Super Happy Fun Time

Bumper of the Sticker

Several months ago I was driving through Everycity and I saw this on the back of a car:

Obesity is the silence of death
Asthma, Cancer, HIV and more

I was immediately intrigued. It was like a puzzle! Okay, let's see...I'm pretty sure the writer meant to say "Obesity is the silent killer". But including all those other things under the "silent killer" umbrella...well, yeah. Most diseases usually are. I mean, you don't hear a brass band when someone has cirrhosis of the liver (unless it's Mardi Gras).

It reminded me of the endings of of so many old Nintendo games. "Congratulation! The princess is in the safely of you! Fin."

That the Japanese managed to work some French into a line of mangled English...I don't think there could be anything more amusing.

Then I got to thinking about the French lessons I took. When translated, what must my sentences have looked like?

This is the week of the translation! Yes, yes! If we are the speakers of the log in the web, it is we who do the speaking! We will! We will! I am very hungry. Translating correctly is not for the good in all in the town. I do not worry. I go! It is sunny. Will you go? I go! I adore the beach and the camping. I go to church and the theatre. Where are you today, everyone? Comment in the log in the web! The log in the web! Yes, yes!

The getting elderly of this will never happen.

A Teensy Reminder

42ND FLOOR SLOPPY PARTY TONIGHT!

Doors open at 6:30!

Food will be provided!

It will be sloppy!

BYOWhatever!

My apartment will be clean...ish!

I may even dance with a bottle on my head!

An Actor's Letter to God

Dear God,

I'm sending this to you at the last minute because I've been at rehearsal until midnight every night this week and this is the first chance I've had to write. I just want to say, as the hours tick by, inching us ever closer to our inevitable 7:30 curtain, that whatever else happens tonight, please don't let me go on stage with my zipper down.

Amen.

P.S. I have a confession to make.

You know how I've complained to my friends about all the stuff our Captain Ahab of a director has thrown on us at the last minute? The new staging, the new choreography, the new sets, costumes, and props? Well, just between you and me...I kinda like it.

Does that make me a huge hypocrite?

My friends and family wonder how I can do this. Why on earth should I put so much of my own time and so much of my own money, not a cent of which I will ever see again, into a show? And not even a professional show. A community theatre show. How can I justify taking a day and a half off work? After all, they're the ones who pay me. They're the ones who keep me fed. They need me to file papers and make copies. How can I do this to them?

I guess there are two possibilities here. #1, because I'm certifiable. Bonkers. Crackers. Coo-coo.

Or #2, because I love the theatre. Because I honestly can't imagine being really happy doing anything else. Because it matters so much to the other cast members. Oh, they're not brilliant. Most of them aren't even any good. They drop their lines, they don't know the words to their music, they miss their entrances, they fall over one another during the dream ballet in act two...

...But, every now and then, you see a little glimmer. Maybe one of them gives a particularly good line reading. Maybe one of them sings that high note really well. Maybe one of them eagerly volunteers to move set pieces off stage so another actor can focus on their quick change.

And isn't that what it's all about? All those little glimmers? All those perfectly ordinary people; lawyers, housewives, and file clerks dressing up in ridiculous costumes and working together, staying at the theatre until after midnight, getting bruises, stumbling around in the dark because there's not enough glow-tape, clashing with egos the size of Cleveland...and for what?

To tell a story. That's all we're doing. We're not doing anything terribly important for the world. We're not feeding the hungry or setting killer whales free. All we've done is climbed a mountain together. We've overcome outrageous obstacles together. You look at these people during notes at the end of the evening and think, as strange as it seems, "I think I'm really going to miss them when it's all over."

I snuck into the theatre to watch one of the ensemble numbers in act two. They had been working on it for weeks and here, at final dress, we'd all given up hope that it would be less tragic than the Hindenburg disaster. I sat down in the back row and watched. The pianist plunked away at lightning speed. The ensemble made their entrances in full costume. The lights worked. The microphones worked. They all knew their words and they all hit their marks.

The number finished and I realized...

...I had been smiling the whole time and didn't even know it.

That's theatre.

Oh yes...

The reason for the scavenger hunt? The costume shoppe that Lola is supposed to be getting these last few pieces from was flooded in the storm this weekend. I don't know how she expects us to believe that she'll "get them from the shop tomorrow". There's no shop left!

That said, I've successfully completed the scavenger hunt!

Hasidic Jew Hat - $34.99

Black Military-Issue Boots - $29.99

Black Pants - $16.50

Knee Pads - $9.99

Bottle of Wine (to be emptied) - $8.99

Bag of Sand - $2.99

Knowing you busted your butt in a selfless attempt to help make this most ramshackle of productions come together at the last minute because nobody was organized enough to do it - Demand a refund

No Posts Today

I'm taking the day off to go on a Toddler on the Wall scavenger hunt and practice the bottle dance in my apartment. I'm determined not to look like a complete fool. Determined! That Lola Levenstein may think she's got me whipped, but I'll show her.

Annie-tevka. Annie-tevka. Remember how I told you Lola has worked about five or six little children into each number? Well, we were doing 'the Dream' sequence last night and at one point, all the children are supposed to jump into the bed with Our Leading Man and Our Leading Lady. Why? I don't know. We're all supposed to be Jewish zombies for goodness sake.

Anyway, last night, the children all jumped in the bed.

There was a crash!

And a scream!

They broke the bed.

Tonight is final dress. God have mercy.

Don't forget to RSVP for the Sloppy Party! Even if you live in Outer Mongolia and can't come, you should still RSVP. It's only polite.

It'll all be fine in the end. It's the getting there.

"They're going over my head
Unheard of! Unthinkable!
Then go on! Be wed!
And uncover my hat and pull out my...head?"

The lyric Our Leading Man MEANT to say at last night's rehearsal was "Then pull out my beard and uncover my head."

Personally, I like the new version better.

I remember, when I was in third or fourth grade, hearing one of our teachers talking about how she came home from running errands and, to her horror, found her little dog in the swimming pool. The poor thing had fallen in and couldn't get out. It had a wild look in its eye as it swam in endless circles, unable to see, unable to hear, every fiber of its little doggie being just trying to keep its head above water. Luckily, the teacher was able to use the pool net to scoop up the pooped pup and save the wretched creature. That story made such an impression on me. I've never forgotten it.

And what do you know? It's totally applicable here!

Lola Levenstein has fallen into the swimming pool of musical theatre and is in doggie paddle survival mode. She can't see. She can't hear. All she can do is swim around and around in little circles.

In other words, she crazy!

Sunday was supposed to be our first rehearsal with the entire cast. Didn’t happen. We almost had everybody last night but one of our leads had to rush his wife to the emergency room.

So here we are, one day away from final dress rehearsal with incomplete costumes (we’ll have them tomorrow), an incomplete set (we’ll have it tomorrow), a wedding canopy that doesn’t have poles (we’ll have them tomorrow), dances that look like train wrecks (we’ll fix them tomorrow), supporting actors who don’t know their lines (they’ll learn them tomorrow), lead actors who want to pull off their heads (tomorrow), and swarms of little girls who look like they just came from Annie rehearsal (tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow). It is the hard-knock life.

But best of all is the bottle dance.

You remember the bottle dance from the movie. It looked like this:

The bottle dance is one of the highlights of any production of Toddler on the Wall (we don’t have a roof, so our pre-pubescent fiddler stands on a stool behind a flat). Dancers usually learn it weeks before, so as to give them plenty of time to hone their bottle balancing skills. When they pull it off, the audience goes bananas every time.

We have a slight problem with our bottle dance.

We don’t have one. But Captain Ahab—er—Lola is determined to make it happen. Even if it kills us all.

The guy who was going to teach it to us was supposed to come in five days ago. Unfortunately, he had a skiing accident and can’t really walk right now. He was to call Lola during rehearsal last night and let her know whether or not he’d be able to come in and teach anything at all.

When we got to the end of rehearsal, Our Leading Man asked Lola if the bottle dance guy had called.

“Yes,” said Lola, “I have a message from him on my phone. But…” she went on nervously, “…I really don’t want to check it right now. I’ll check it later. After you guys leave. And if he can’t come I’ll...uh...I'll teach it to you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow.

Around and around in the swimming pool. Around and around.

In other news, Hillary Clinton's surprise visit to the 39th Floor made getting into the building rather difficult this morning.

And that’s as political as this blog is ever gonna get.

(Tentative) SLOPPY PARTY!

I don't think I can even begin to fully explain just how much I want a sloppy joe right now.

I mean, look at this. How can you NOT want to sink your teeth into this most comfortable of comfort foods? You can practically hear it calling your name!

I guess high protein smoothies are no substitute for good, old fashioned ground round and ketchup.

This Friday night at 6:30pm (while the cast of 'Toddler on the Roof' is observing the Sabbath), all 42nd Floorers are invited to meet at my place for some homemade sloppy goodness! I can't promise this Sloppy Party will rival the crazy good time we all had at the KING KONG party, but it should still prove to be delicious all the same.

I'm breaking out the crock pot for this one. RSVP in the comments section so I'll know how much to make. Oh, and if you're allergic to anything (onions, bell peppers, cat meat) be sure to include that too.

I Have a Dream

At some point in the process of rehearsing and running a show, I have the Actor's Nightmare.

The Actor's Nightmare is a little different for everybody. Sometimes the dream takes place at rehearsal for the show you're currently in. Sometimes you'll be on a Broadway stage on opening night in a show you've never heard of. Regardless of where you happen to find yourself, there's always one thing that remains the same:

You don't know your lines.

So there I was (in my dream) at the Everycity Jewish Community Center. I got up on stage at rehearsal and began to speak, only the words I knew I was supposed to be saying weren't anything like the like the lines I currently have. Once I realized I didn't know these new lines, I panicked. Lola Levenstein glared at me. Everyone glared at me. I was finished; done for.

Then I remembered something. "Wait! I know these lines!" I shouted. "I've done this show before! It's THOSE guys who don't know their lines!"

I suppose this dream was brought on by last night's rehearsal. Lola was trying to go over the big ensemble numbers but kept running into a little problem. You see, none of the ensemble is off-book. In fact, they're completely ON book. Their cues would come up, but instead of singing or delivering lines, they just stood there looking expectantly at Lola as if to say, "Whadda we do now?"

I kept seeing Waiting for Guffman in my head. You know. The scene where they're rehearsing "Stool Boom" and Lloyd gets up to quietly tell Corky that he thinks the show is in trouble.

There's a funny little song the ensemble sings called 'the Rumor'. It doesn't really advance the plot or anything, it's just a fun, peppy song to give the audience a break from all the drama.

Lola was getting frustrated. Not only did nobody know their stuff (no surprise there), but they delivered what little they did know with all the excitement of a three-toed sloth running on only eight hours of sleep.

"Get excited!" she shouted. "Come on! This is exciting for you! Nothing exciting ever happens in Annie-tevka! It's a rumor! It's gossip! You love gossip!"

"You're Jews!" I added.

Fortunately only one person heard that. Molly, the girl playing my love interest. Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open.

"Ooh...this isn't the place for that kind of humor, is it?"

"I can't believe you just said that."

For the record, 42nd Floorers, I am NOT a racist. Good grief, 65% of my acting career has been spent playing Jews. I love the Jews! I even celebrated Purim this week! Most of my best friends in life have been black! A Hispanic woman helped raise my siblings and me and became a surrogate grandmother to us! I find Japanese girls attractive! I saw Beloved four times!Segregation never! Integration now! Two, four, six, eight, TV's got to integrate!

I think race, like politics, religion, and funerals, is something we should all be able to laugh about. I may occasionally tweak the nose of conventional, politically-correct America and make a Polack joke every now and then, but you won't see me burning crosses in people's front yards or blowing up synagogues. No sir.

Unity. Brotherhood. Peace. Freedom. Love. That's what I stand for.

Still, Molly is a straight-laced suburban attorney who is perfectly happy filing papers and filling out reports all the live-long day. This is the first time she's ever set foot on a stage or been around irreverent and occasionally regretfully verbose "theatre people". Time to backpedal. And fast!

"I was just kidding! It just sounded like that was what she was going to say next. Y'know! 'You love gossip! You're Jewish!' Ha ha ha! I was just being silly! I didn't mean it! I love the Jewish people! I toured America in a show about the Holocaust with Anne Frank's stepsister for eight months! No! I'm serious! And the Purim cookies were sooo good the other night. Oh, and all my best friends have always been black! I just thought--y'know. This'll be funny! Like how last year all the kids were saying, 'Niggaplease'".

Her jaw hit the floor.

"Ooooohmygosh. That was a really bad example, wasn't it?"

There goes my bid for President.

Toddler on the Roof

By this time next week we'll be in dress rehearsals for 'Toddler' (everything else here has a pseudonym, I figured the show ought to have one too). I already have so many wonderful stories!

We may have the youngest fiddler in this history of this show. He's a little boy in junior high who's just learning how to play the violin. Bless his heart, he's trying so hard, but every time he plays I think of Nelson...

Our cast includes at least one indigo child, though I suspect there may be more...

There are so many little girls in this production that the town may as well be called Annie-tevka...

We open next week and we still haven't had a single rehearsal with the entire cast...

But best of all...

Last night the costume lady showed up with several racks of drab-looking garments (everyone knows poor people always wear faded earth tones). Lola Levenstein sent us out in groups to be fitted for our costumes. We got out there and after we explained to the addle-pated costume lady that we were there to try on the clothes, not steal them, she told us to pick our costumes off the rack.

"Are they marked with our names on them?" someone asked.

"Oh no," replied the costume lady. "Just pick something you'd like to wear for the show and I'll write it down on this clipboard."

Now you know why I haven't been referring to her as the costume designer.

Everyone else got busy playing dress-up while I snuck back into the theatre. I chatted for a little while with the Hispanic guy and the Episcopalian playing the lead Russian soldiers, when in swept the girl playing my love interest.

And she was wearing the brown version of this:

I'm supposed to fall in love with that?

Feelin' Blue?

You know those bratty kids who have ADD? The ones who also eat lots of sugary junk food and play video games instead of going out and getting some exercise?

Well, according to latest studies, those kids might not have ADD at all. They might actually be Indigo Children! Antsy, disruptive children who have an inborn sense of royalty and lack of respect for authority figures are actually centuries-old reincarnated souls whose auras are a deep shade of blue (hence the name). They are infinitely intelligent, can read minds, and, if left to their own devices, could solve the world's hunger and pollution problems. The trouble is their parents are doping them with ritalin and making Planet Earth's Last Great Hope into doughy little dullards.

I think there may be an indigo child in our cast of 'Fiddler'. He's one of those hyper, candy-loving types who is easily bored and goes a little bonkers whenever Lola Levenstein tells everyone to stand still and be quiet. Lola obviously doesn't realize who she's dealing with. If he wanted to, he could reduce her brain to tapioca!

Indigo children still have nothing on Tom Cruise however, who is a Level VII Scientologist. That means he can read AND control minds of both humans and animals, render himself invisible, foretell the future, leave his body at will, and move objects with his brain.

Just don't dump a bucket of pigs blood on him at prom or you'll be sorry.

4 Gud Times Clik Hre!

Having trouble focusing at work? Think you might be an Indigo child? A-Dub, a regular 42nd Floorer and defender of democracy, has made a post that will bring a smile to your face and a flood of fond memories to your heart. Or brain, I dunno. Wherever memories come from.

Strangers in Our Midst...

Okay, I know you're out there. But since I can't see you, it's time for our first-ever 42nd Floor Roll Call Poll! Whether you're a regular reader or just found out about this wacky place five minutes ago, make yourself a fun pseudonym and post "HERE!" in the comment section of this post! Once everyone is accounted for, in typical 42nd Floor fashion, we'll vote for our favorite one.

Holey Toontown Site Destroyed

42nd Floor Press
by Forky Fourchette

Toontown, California -- The Cartoon Protests were rekindled Tuesday night as downtown Toontown was rocked by colorful cartoon "BOOMS" which destroyed what many believe to be the holeiest site in the city.

"We never saw it coming," said Mr. Magoo, 78. "In fact, I haven't seen any of this coming. What's happening to our city? It's like the whole world is falling apart."

Eyewitnesses described the scene as "hole-rrific" and "really funny".

"I just can't believe it's gone," said Betty Boop. "The House of Cheese was so important to us and now it's been reduced to cheese-whiz."

The cartoon flapper went on to say "there aren't enough crackers in the world" to clean up the mess caused by the cartoon rioters. Ms. Boop then vowed she would never rest until she "tasted their crimson blood" on her pouty, bee-stung lips.

The Toontown House of Cheese, which was made out of a giant block of baby Swiss, had been a landmark in downtown Toontown since Mayor Mortimer "Mickey" Mouse erected it in 1939.

"There was no place on earth more holey than that," said a furious George Jetson. "You could never get warm in there because there was always a draft. I'm telling ya, this protest is out of control! Jane, stop this crazy thing!"

"We will find whoever is responsible for this act of terror and bring them to justice," said Mayor Mouse in a press conference. "We are not to be trifled with. The world will tremble on the stool of fear at the Cartoon Mice Coalition. With our connections, we will make Toontown a gouda city again."

Allegations have been made that the Cartoon Mice Coalition has been using scare-tactics to control the powerful Pink Elephant Party, whose parade was canceled following the blasts. Mayor Mouse has denied the rumors, calling such accusations examples of the blatant racism that has only helped to fuel the cartoon violence.

Others aren't so sure.

"Mice are not to be trusted," said Tom, a blue cat who was recently released from Toontown General Hospital after having been cut completely in half by a buzz saw, blown up with dynamite, and eaten by a shark--all at the hands of a single brown mouse.

"They may look cute, but as the old Toontown saying goes, the smaller the critter, the larger the mallet they're hiding behind their back. If the CMC really is scaring the elephants into doing their dirty work, you can bet these riots aren't going to end any time soon."

National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice has informed the 42nd Floor that the U.S. military is planning on occupying Toontown with modern CGI cartoon soldiers to restore order if the hand-drawn characters don't stop acting looney tunes.

The cartoon riots began two weeks ago when the world's most beloved animated characters began attacking each other for reasons that are still unclear. Three city blocks have been literally erased and hundreds of toons have been evacuated.

More on the situation in Toontown as it develops.

Inventions of the Orient: The Body 'brella

Almost forgot about this one!

March 7th

Puppies! Puppies will make them sleeeeeep...!

We've seen bats, cats, and cocker spaniels. Now welcome the newest member of the 42nd Floor animal family:

Tarajae Nambuko Sawaleegee a.k.a. "Li'l Runt"

Queen III bought this little guy this weekend. He's a six-week old Toy Poodle about the size of a fully grown teddy bear hamster. When Queenie told me his name is Swahili for "Faith and Hope, Restoration, Cute Coping Tool for Painful Breakup, and Born on a Sunday", I suggested that, considering he's a poodle and not a dingo, she might try something a little less...tribal, a little more...America. How about shortening Tarajae to 'Roger' or 'Rodge'? But it doesn't really matter. To Uncle Forky, he will always be "Li'l Runt" (or "Little Nipper" depending on if he nips or not). Queen III, good luck trying to discipline him without bursting into tears.

It's a good thing I have access to the world's cutest puppy. Last night at 'Fiddler' rehearsals, I realized I had made a huge mistake.

Lola Levenstein's concept for Anatevka is the audience sees the townsfolk in the background of every scene. In theory, it's supposed to create a sense of community by showing the other townspeople going through their hard, gritty, real-life, day-to-day lives. Nevermind the fact that we're working with a totally abstract set or that we don't have the resources to put spinning wheels, horses, or a real butcher shop on stage. And especially nevermind the fact that any sense of authenticity is pretty much shot whenever our actors open their mouths to deliver jarringly 21st century line readings.

So we're at the part where my character joins Tevye's family for the Sabbath and I'm told to go wash by the well with everybody else. It's basically a way to get the extra people offstage so the next six or seven minutes can be devoted to focusing on advancing the Tzeitel/Lazar Woolf subplot.

But do you think the "extra people" go offstage?

For almost ten minutes, me and two twelve year old Jewish girls are far downstage right "washing" our hands at an imaginary pump with imaginary water. The scene--what the audience is supposed to be paying attention to--is upstage left.

Now, in the comments section of this post, I especially want the theatre folks to tell me what's wrong with this picture.

So we're washing our hands at the pump and one of the girls says, "I hope we'll get to leave at 9 like the schedule said."

The other one, the bookish one who speaks Hebrew, said, "No. We'll probably be here until 10 or later."

"What?" I asked.

"Is this your first show with Lola Levenstein?"

"Yes."

The girl raised her eyebrows and gave me this look.

"Just so you know," she said, "During tech week we'll be up here until 1 and 2 in the morning."

I've made a huge mistake.

I want a puppy.

New For 20XX!

Let's face it--despite an unprecedented number of slips, spills, crashes, and drug-busts, the 2006 Winter Olympics were a real snooze.

That's why the 42nd Floor has been asked by the International Winter Olympic Nominating Team (IWONT) to come up with new and exciting winter sports so interest in the world-uniting athletic events can get the (figurative) shot in the arm they so desperately need.

"How do I submit my idea to IWONT?" It's easy! Simply leave it here! IWONT has assured me that they will be visiting the 42nd Floor on a daily basis and will choose the best, brightest, flashiest, and most unconventional winter sports suggestions.

Here's mine!

Human Skee-Ball
Similar to the famous Ski Jump, Human Skee-Ball adds an entirely new element to the tired old sport. Human Skee-Ball consists of teams of eight skiers who shoot themselves one at a time off a ski-jump and into giant rings of varying sizes. The smaller the ring, the more points! Everyone loves playing skee-ball at arcades and midways. The human version of this already popular game will easily be the most accessible Winter Olympic event of 20XX! IWONT, vote for me!

Happy Birthday Texas!

And remember, there's no basement in the Alamo--er--Alamo.

Spring Break

Still no headway on leaving a lasting impression on the world before I turn 26.

I almost can't believe how tired I am. For real. Especially since this week has been a "spring break" of sorts for us here in the office. You see, everybody but the lowly analysts and the admins and the file clerks and the receptionists have been out all week long on a business trip in Desertstate. For most people, that means a number of wonderful things:

Two hour lunch breaks

Relaxed "street" attire (jeans and t-shirts with graphics)

Listening to iPods isn't just allowed, it's encouraged

Foot races around the office

King Cake for everyone

As long as you don't tell anybody, the work day ends sometime around 4:00

Yes, all these wonderful things happen when the bosses and everybody else is out of the office.

Unless your supervisor is Consuela Brown.

I don't believe I've properly introduced Consuela to the new generation of 42nd Floor-ers. For those of you who don't know her very well, check it. Consuela is an odd woman. She works on her own plane. That's the only way to explain how someone who's obviously an intelligent woman can function with that totally flat affect of hers. She never says good morning, she never makes small talk, she finds the strangest things knee-slapping hysterical, she gets annoyed if she has to repeat really complicated instructions more that once...

And she's pregnant.

And I'm supposed to do her job while she's out on maternity leave. Of course, I'll still be paid as the File Clerk, even though I'll be performing the job of an executive-level administrative assistant. I asked Mr. Archibald (in so many words), "What the crap?"

Mr. Archibald: Well, what WE like to do is GIVE you new responsiBILities and AFTER we see how you've DONE with them THEN we can talk about compensation.

Me: I repeat, what the crap?

So this week...this corporate Spring Break...what SHOULD have been a totally relaxed, fun time...has been absolutely hellish. I don't want to be Consuela. I don't want to do her job. It sucks.

But I've passed the rubicon. Unless something big and dramatic happens, I'm scheduled to become a personality-free black woman with a knack for making simple instructions for basic tasks head-spinningly complicated around mid-April.

Shoot me. Shoot me now!

March

It's a strange thing when you wake up in the morning and can tell that it's a new month. There was something very March-y in the air this morning. Like heat. And the impending sense of doom and failure that draws ever closer.

You see, I made a rule for myself that I had to accomplish something AWFULLY important by my twenty-fifth year. But when I got to 25 and hadn't exactly rocked the world, I gave myself a one-year extension; I could accomplish that awfully important task DURING my twenty-fifth year.

Well, in a mere seven days, that experiment will be over. I will leave my mid-twenties and begin the slow, tremulous trek to 30.

30... Damn. And here I thought I was going to somehow be able to will myself to stay youthful and vibrant all my days and never grow up. Might as well lock me up in some assisted living facility and throw away the key.

Is there anything I can do in the next seven days that will leave a lasting impression on the world? Should I drive to the beach and throw some starfish back into the sea? Should I give my birthday money to starving animals in Outer Mongolia? Should I move to the wilderness and begin writing my memoirs? What?? I need suggestions! The clock is ticking!