I turned 29 yesterday.
That's a scary number. What makes this different from, say, 22-28 is that, during those times, I felt invincible. Once yesterday came around though, it seems like I'm approaching some strange place of mortality; almost as if I officially have 364 days to have as much reckless fun as possible, talk crazy, wear a mohawk if I feel like it, sneak chicken wings into the movie theater, pee in public, and do Ric Flair struts behind women until I approach that next stage in life where such behaviors are not embraced and/or becoming of a man at a particular age.
I won't even type the number, let alone say it. Instead, I'll focus on enjoying 29 as much as possible. If nothing else, two folks told me my number is finally adding up with my demeanor (in other words, I was 18 going on 29 a long time ago.)
Interview number two was a couple of days ago. Being in a room and having numerous people ask you questions from all angles was a new one, but it was cool, mainly because I want to be there. If it was simply going to an interview at a place I had no connection to, other than attempting to collect a check, the process would have either bored me to tears, or my demeanor would have illustrated to them that they have the wrong guy in front of them. However, it was the opposite of that on Monday, and even with that said, I'm not sweating it. Things work out, I'll go work there. They don't, and I'll start the Ph.D. in the fall. It's really that simple.
Maze is coming in town on Saturday, and I'm gonna try my damndest to make it out to their show. This Marable book is getting better with each turn as well. I had a discussion about editing and typos recently that was about as exciting and passionate as talking about a football or basketball game (nerdy, yes, but true.) Oh, and running through the AFI Top 100 movies of all-time has been a blast. That's all for now.