Upon the Suspicious Occasion of My Birthday: Year Sixty
Why am I using the last few minutes of this stunningly, stupidly perfect fall day--its pristine, crystalline shards of yellow-green silently tinkling at the window--to talk about me? It's one of two things: --ego --the need to tell a story (code for "I want to talk about me now") I think it's both and much, much more! The need to tell a story usually holds hands with the belief that someone wants to hear it. Oh, whatever. It's my birthday and I'll blog if I want to. I figure
