Turning a new year

Other thing is, I turned 33 earlier last week and have now officially entered my Lary Bird year. Of course as we get older, we get more introspective around our birthdays (I think) and this year was no different for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about where I am and where I'm going and, rather than get all on about how I can sometimes get down around these things, I'll just say that I was actually feeling good about some of this this year and I came out of my 32nd year with some decent accomplishments chalked up on the old fuselage.

Word. Now I'm onto Larry's year: trying to score 50 points in as many games as I can, doling out assists, and hitting the boards serious-like.

Here's what I wrote in my second journal entry from last year, when I was starting Jack.

Friday already!! But who wants to write about that? We went camping and that was awesome. Took the coast camp and saw amazing things at the beach, afterwards hiked up to the sky camp and that’d’ve been fine too, but maybe coast was even better. Who’s to say? Both good.

And then I just went on and added about another 5 pages to what I'd done the day before. Here's a piece:

And that was all it took to get him hooked in or started in the thing. No matter that anyone anywhere would recognize his face still, regardless, he was in, on his way to meet Ralphie at a Presidio diner a half hour later, showered and wearing his favorite Southie tuxedo, a green Boston-style warm-up of back velour with a white line down the side. Jack usually wore the baseball hat out so people wouldn’t recognize him but now he thought it complimented the warm-ups as well. With his white shell-toes, he thought he could pass for a Bay Sider, someone who had not grown up out East or spent the time from 21 to 25 in LA. Jack kept the top up on his convertible until he got across the Golden Gate, lowering it as he got off 1 and made his way onto the city streets looking for Mel’s, the diner where Ralph had told him, “This is where my people and me wake up.”