Time Takes a Cigarette, Puts It in Your Mouth

Today is my birthday. So far I've had a cupcake, a chocolate donut, roses from co-workers and a nice photograph of myself smiling with uncharacteristic cheerfulness that someone in the office snapped and emailed to me.

I usually don't feel happy on my birthday, but today I do. Though I woke up feeling morose, the gloom slid away. I played the new I Feel Tractor album in my apartment this morning and danced. That is one great album. Look for it in small, discerning record stores. I went down the street and bought myself a cupcake, explaining I wanted the yellow one because it was my birthday and it looked more birthday-y. An older woman nearby looked delighted for me, as if birthdays are unusual. "Your birthday -- that's wonderful!" she said. "This is a feast day." Something like that. Something surprisingly formal. "You need a candle," she added, touchingly. I said I might have one at home. The kindness of strangers in New York is surprisingly strong and bracing.

I'm excited because I've made a momentous life decision. I am going to leave my job at the end of August to pursue a career as a TV comedy writer. For once, my birthday doesn't feel like a marker in a sea of directionless drifting -- an embarrassing notch on a bedpost full of embarrassing notches -- a giant glitch in the cosmos -- an unfortunate reminder of a random and oft-cursed event -- an occasion to receive cards from parents not merely wishing luck for the coming year but seeming to plead desperately for it -- a time to take stock of a dwindling set of options and an even drearier future.

No. Ha ha! This year it comes right on the heels of my decision to seek my liberation. I actually feel I have something to celebrate. Do you know how long it's been since I've felt that way?