So Jennifer 8. Lee of the New York Times is having a multiple-city celebration for her 30th birthday. I didn’t know the Times paid so well. If I had the money, I would do her one better. I’d organize parties in Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York. There’d be firewalks over Lake Michigan, a block party with the Roots and Jill Scott in Philly, and a parade-like festival in Brooklyn (think the West Indian American Day Carnival Parade). I’d commission special birthday outfits from my favorite Project Runway designers — Chloé, Daniel V., Nick, and Andrae.
So did you think of your anecdotes? Cool. So send them in! Why? It’s really simple.
People have started asking me what I want for my birthday. Do I have a wish list, or a favorite brand of makeup. Where do I want to go for my birthday dinner, or who do I want to see. The answers are yes, it’s on Amazon; yes, it’s NARS. I want to go to the Frontera Grill or Pasteur or the Checkerboard or the Guatemalan chicken place. I want to see all of you. But honestly, I can do these things for myself if I have to. Take myself out to dinner, buy myself a copy of The Hundred Dresses or that Criterion Collection DVD of Black Orpheus. Blow out my own candles, and hold back my own hair as I get sick from too much Champagne or birthday cake. I don’t yet get the sense that turning 30 is special or any different than turning 29. It’s a milestone, but I have those all the time. Okay, maybe not so much lately, but that’s adulthood for you.
So let’s get back to the simple answer. I want memories, dammit. Surely I’ve been blogging for almost six years, but things get left out. Sometimes on purpose, like a death in the family where the family is not mine. Problems with money and weight gain and work. That kind of shit that I know you’d probably relate to but I don’t want to bore you with. The accidental exclusions are the ones that kill me. Like whoever it was who coined the supafriends term “reckless public clowning”. Or what it was I said over lunch at Nye’s Polonaise with Michael, Kevin, and Jen on Halloween of 2003 that had Michael laughing so hard he fell out of the booth. There are some situations where it’s not so clear if I’m okay to announce something or not.
So for March 2, 2006, day 2 of “the 30 days of jasmine”, tell me a story. Any story about me and you. Or me and somebody else. Or you and somebody we both love or both hate (of the two I prefer the latter). Really, anything at all. And I promise that this time, I’ll remember.
jenny 8 is turning 30, too