And now I'm Thirty-five.

And that isn't old, really. It's older than I think of when I think of myself (I consider myself I fairly gifted small child, most of the time, with forays into being a reasonably independent twenty-year old) but it's about right when I think of what I remember.



Colecovision.



Seeing Star Wars in the theater when I was about six.



Pop Rocks and Coke.



Gloria Vanderbilts and my first Atari 2600. (First one died of natural causes--got another a year later--played massive "Space Invaders" and still love all that. And watching "V" every Friday night--um, not "Dukes of Hazzard."



And like, about 1991 or 1992, finally hearing music I actually liked on regular radio (not just WMMR or WYSP--like, anywhere--when Nirvana and Pearl Jam and REM got all cool.)



So I guess that's how old I really am.



So I got some presents: Flying Fox Shower Gel from LUSH--which seems a natural for me. And I got gift certificates to book stores--YYYAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!! So far, I think I invested pretty well:

I got two books from Peter F. Hamilton: A Second Chance at Eden and The Confederation Handbook. And I also got The Diamond Age: Or, a Young Lady's Illustrated Primer, by Neal Stephenson. And In at the Death (Settling Accounts) by Harry Turtledove. I anticipate eye strain in my near future. And maybe a few reviews.