Another year, another 192 entries

Today is my birthday. I try not to make too much of it, mostly because I don't like to remind myself that the end is getting nearer and nearer. And also because when I hear my age in numbers, it brings on some cognitive dissonance.

I don't feel as old as I once thought people my age should feel. I feel younger, stronger and healthier.

More important than the candles on my cake, today also marks a very important anniversary. Not of my birth. But of the birth of this blog.

It was two years ago today that I sat down, poured through my friend Mark's new blog and thought, "Oh, I should do that." Particularly since the Los Angeles Times had just instituted a new policy about publishing Letters to the Editor. They had decided they were going to limit writers to 4 letters per year, one every 90 days. If you've stopped by here with any regularity you know that I can crank out 4 raving rants before the cheese on my omelet melts.

I needed a new venue to vent and I was born anew into the blogosphere.

I don't know where this blog thing is going. I told myself I'd do it for a year, I've done it for two. I have over 400 entries (as if that number were any kind of benchmark of achievement) maybe I'll stop at 500. Maybe I'll stop at 1000.

But I do know it helps to have a goal in mind.

So here it is. Recently my friend Laurenne, a very brave young woman and an advertising colleague, wrote a hilarious blog posting about the smell of her vagina. (They say good writing is about opening up a vein and letting it out onto the page. I think Laurenne got the anatomy mixed up.)

I could never do that. Not only do I lack her courage, I lack her genitalia.

In her very forthright posting she also makes mention of odorous, sweaty balls. These too are in my creative No-Fly Zone. In fact here's the deal, if I ever commit four to five hundred words about my own testicular fragrance, that will be official end of this blog and time to move onto the roundeighteen of my life.