Actually, I don’t really have anything to say on this matter, despite having done it last Saturday. As one of my Facebook friends said, “At least now your age is a palindrome.” The last time I turned a palindrome, I noted that the only remarkable thing about turning 22 was that it marked the beginning of the rest of your life where remarkable birthdays were generally treated as bad (i.e. OMIGOD I AM THIRTY IT’S LIKE I AM ALREADY DEAD) rather than good (i.e. 21 LEGAL DRINKINGZ YAHOOOOOOOOO). My then-boyfriend wrote inside the cover of the book he gave me, “Happy Unremarkable Birthday.”
It occurred to me this year that it is possible getting older means your birthday is less and less able to distract you from things like work. I am desperately trying to finish a book before the semester begins. I hardly have time to turn a new age. But my family helped—D reserved the theater where he works for a private night of movie-watching, Final Fantasy–playing, and wine-drinking. (I’m only just discovering Dario Argento and Douglas Sirk, so our double feature was Suspiria (appropriately released in the year of my birth) and Imitation of Life. I wrote to S the next day, “Is it racist that Imitation of Life made me cry?” and she confirmed that yes, it was. “Did you tell her it made you BAWL?” D asked. I did not.) And my parents, grandparents, and sister Emma drove up to Hamilton to spend the day with me. In fact, the real point of this post was to direct you to my mother’s post about their visit, which I think just about says it all. Is it a sign of aging when you start to relinquish blogging responsibilities to your mom?