TALES FROM THE BARSTOOL
By: Clint Lien

"Birthdays"

I'm turning forty on July the fourth. I'm going to throw myself a party. I don't ever remember having a birthday party. I know I have. There's pictures to prove it. Me with eight or nine friends (only one or two whom I can identify now) posing for the camera in our back yard. There's no date on the photo but my mother figures it was probably my fifth. I don't remember the gala. In fact now, when I cast back, I can't remember any of my birthdays. I can't remember what I did last year. I do remember being with my friend Greg and his wife at Lake Arrowhead a few years back. I choked on a swallow of beer, had a seizure and almost died. The paramedics had to be called. That was a memorable birthday. Still, it was no party. This year there's going to be a party. I'm going to invite everyone to my house for a bar-b-que.

I've always wanted to have a birthday party but each year I've kept quiet about the date until the day, then I casually throw it out there. "Today's my birthday." Drink beer. Wait for response. Everyone is choked - always. If I hadn't waited until the actual day to let anyone know, they would have done something. "I don't want any fuss," I tell them. But, of course, I do want some fuss. So this year I'm letting everyone know and I'm making sure as many friends as I can find will show up. I have lots of them. Today I was driving around town with one of my best ones, Pete. We'd gone over to another friend's place to look at a bunch of old bicycles I'd bought and stored in his basement. On our way back I told Pete that I planned on having a bit of a bash for my big day. He thought that was a great idea and promised to be there. He even promised to have a drink or two - a big night for Pete. "When's your birthday?" I asked him. "It was last week," he answered.

I stared at him. I couldn't believe it. Pete's one of my best friends (I wanted to mention that twice) and I didn't know it was his birthday. I immediately informed him that his wife was going to be getting an earful from me. She should have let us all know the day was coming up. He said he didn't want any fuss and had told her not to tell anyone. He was going with that story.

When I got home I logged onto his web site and checked out his "About Peter" link. Sure enough, there it was right at the top - May 27th 1969. Now, I've got a ton of things going on in my life. I'm looking to buy a new home. It's a tough market. I've got a new romance in my life. She lives a long ways away. I've got a script with producers. They're making me insane and I'm trying to train for a marathon. I haven't got time to surf the web looking for my friends' birthdays!

What a shmuck. Of course I've got the time.

My mother has a day-less calendar in her den and she writes every birthday of every friend and relative on that thing. Tomorrow I'm going to buy me one of those and the first birthday I'm writing on it will be Pete's; then I'm going to email all my friends and insist they divulge their own DOBs.

See, even if we don't want our friends to make a fuss, it occurred to me today, they have a right to. At least once a year we should be able to tell the people closest to us how much richer we are for having them in our lives. When I send out my emails everyone will write back that they don't want any fuss made but they'll all give up the date and I'm gonna make a fuss from here on in - even if it makes them a little uncomfortable.

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