The past couple days have been reflection and throwing out resumes to places like throwing playing cards at a watermelon, hoping one or two will actually stick.  I also wanted to find pictures to embarrass the hell out of a good friend of mine.  However, there are other birthdays that are being celebrated as well, because (somehow) February 6th is a popular day in birthday history.

The other night, there was an issue.  A particular picture, which is located in a particular album, could not be found anywhere.  A couple bags of miscellaneous doubles–this was realized later one–were found, and the pictures were sifted through.  The picture was not found in the miscellaneous files.  The case of the missing photo albums had begun!  My searching brought me to the dreaded, cold crawlspace that is the old basement.  My searching took me through rubber container after rubber container, where I came across a copious amount of buried treasure, and all this will be explained in the next post.

Finally, lo-and-behold, the albums!

For a few hours, my mom and I took a trip down memory lane through the pictures.  Of course, the picture that I was looking for was found and in the last album, of course.

So, without further ado:

This guy, Ryan, is a former roommate of mine.  He’s venturing into his early 30’s, and he’s still an outstanding fella.  Thankfully, through the graces of social media, we can keep tabs on one another.  He’s an outstanding, positive individual, and (since I haven’t heard from him in a while) I hope he’s still kicking ass.

One of the highlights of living with him:  one night we decided to slap each other with flip flops.  I forgot what sparked it, but the game continued through the rest of the year.

Don’t mind me as Enrique Igesias or Cliff as Wolverine, but it’s Leanna’s birthday as well.   The other two in the picture, well, they are the living proof that hopeless romance exists, love happens, and that life is a romantic comedy.  It’s the basis for one of the greatest love stories that should continue to be told.  I’m happy for the both of them, and they continue to awe.

Happy birthday, Leanna!

Today is Jim’s 30th birthday.  I met Jim when he was a Freshman, and he has forever been the same.

Jim and I went out for his 21st birthday in 2005, and it was actually the 39th Superbowl.  Paul McCartney played the halftime show, and he and I were more interested in his music than the actual game. (New England?  Jacksonville?  Pfft.)  We headed to a few bars, including the now defunct The Silver Bullet, where we watched McCartney on his piano.

I treated the guy to a good and responsible 21st, and he wouldn’t stop thanking me on the way home, on the good old Oneonta Public Transportation.  Like I said, he had a good time, and his not feeling too shabby caused us to stop the bus and walk back to campus.  When we got to the Cow Path, Jim thanked me and told me to have a good night.  Now, the Cow Path is a poorly lit (haunted) path that leads up to campus.  Luckily, I convinced my friend he wasn’t at campus yet, and it dawned on him.  I made sure he got to his building safe and sound, and he was still walking.

Happy Birthday, Jim. Welcome to 30; it’s a great age.

We kids had it good.  We really did, growing up in a neighborhood like The Farm.  One of our own is turning 30 today as well.  It’s not me, or his sister.  It’s not the little guy, my brother, wearing red.  It’s the kid in the green shirt holding my Michelangelo.

Dan, welcome to a new decade. It’s a bright decade, and this age is a remarkable one.  I can only speak on behalf of myself, saying that 30 was a good year.  There is a month and six days left before it ends, and it’s tapering off into a fine closure.

Dan made up one of the gang of boys that roamed around our side of The Farm, and we’ve gone through a hell of a lot.  We have entertained ourselves with so many activities whether it was building forts, shooting air rifles, or camping in the backyard.  Now we all drive and hang out at each other’s homes.

We’re adults.

I couldn’t find a picture with all of us with Steve and/or Rich and/or Jim, which is really strange.

We really weren’t evil kids.  It was just that our hanging out came with blatant warning labels and our actions caused our parents to shake their heads.  We all spent countless hours playing neighborhood night games or listening to music in the garage.   We made The Woods our very own world, and we’ve conquered many snow hills in the vicinity.  The infamous 1998 Labor Day Storm and the darkness it caused could not suffocate our light.

How many times have we told scary stories in your grandmother’s basement?  The second basement…

Ah, this is that picture that I scoured the crawlspace for.  That Kodak-labeled January 1986 picture right above–it was probably taken in the fall of 1985–you and I, on top of your parent’s deck that your father built.

Totally worth it.

How many times did we paint the deck?  As many times your mom wanted us to shush up and keep us busy.  Now, for all you readers, we didn’t actually paint the deck; we did use paint brushes, but we dipped them in buckets of soapy water.

Now, our families and circles of friends are expanding.  Our responsibilities are ever important and emphasized.  Through thick and thin, we all have to be there for one another, because who knows where we will all end up.

This is what turning 30 emphasizes.

I didn’t ask this before, but how do you summarize 30 years in one, small blog post?

Remember:  it’s just an age, and life is going to be just as fun… It will be a different kind of fun.

After all, we still  have this:

Happy 30th birthday, man.  Glad to have known you since you popped out of your mom.