Post Birthday Post
Scratch a comedian/humorist and you find a sentimentalist. Sometimes it expresses itself in the kind of anti-sentimentalist bitterness that Mark Twain and H.L. Mencken eventually succumbed to; the kind of anger at the world that wouldn't exist if you couldn't stop believing it should be better. But mostly---and in performance--it's the schmaltz of every screen comedian dangerously handed the freedom to do anything, a tradtition that started with Charlie Chaplin and has found its most recent Waterloo in Robin Williams---who, between Patch Adams and What Dreams May Come, demonstrated definitively that his blood courses with equal parts cocaine and treacle.
I mention this because I'm a sentimental fool, and I hope I don't hacknify when I say that I was really, really moved by everyone's presence (and occasional presents---Damn, that's fine bourbon, Andy!), and while I'm not certain exactly WHY I find it amazing that people are pleasant to me (Lord knows I had a nice enough upbringing), I can still be brought to tears by a birthday cake and a bunch of friends singing. So thanks, everyone. And if I missed you, I have a twin brother and a sister born on the 2nd, and so we always had a relatively loose definition of "Birthday." So don't be afraid to holler. I'm happy to hang out and share drinks.
Labels: Dave Update