My Birthday

(Hey - this posting is not about walking. In fact, there is very little will to with walking in it.)

Outside having your birthday fall on the day of a large scale tragedy, such as my brother-in-law, the lucky birthday boy of September 11th (who also just so happens to be a firefighter) and has the distinction, in my opinion, of having the suckiest birth date of all, I think I have what amounts to be the almost suckiest birth date: January 2nd. It's the end of the party and the fun is over. People are either on vacation, at work or recovering from the new years revelry. In Brazil, where I grew up, all stores close on January 2nd for inventory. It's like some kind of non-sanctioned informal National Inventory Day. No retail therapy is ever possible on January 2.

The second day of the year is not much better in the US, for that matter. Sure the stores are open, since it would be un-American for them to be closed. All are welcome to pick over the remains of the Christmas and Post-Christmas shopping orgies. It's cold outside and, frankly, it' simply not festive. Did I mention that most people are either gone or incapacitated?

I usually choose to spend the end of the year in Brazil. There is nothing like ignoring Christmas at the beach. No shopping, no crowds, no tree to decorate. Just the sand, the ocean, some sunscreen and the occasional cold beer. In short: paradise. This year, however, Scott and I stayed put. My birthday rolled around and I just wanted to stay in bed, because it was a fine example of a "blagh" day, one that is gray and raining and cold. It was one of those days when staying inside where it's warm pretty much outweighs any other proposition. But it was not to be so. Our houseguest had some unfinished business in the city, so off we went with the pretext that I would get to pick the day's activities. Did I mention that I wanted to stay in bed?

We parted ways shortly, as The Guest wanted to go see the World Trade Center site, something I find way too depressing to do on my birthday. He also wanted to go souvenir shopping, not something that I can file under the broad umbrella of retail therapy. So The Guest went on his merry way and we headed away from the lingering crowds to find a quiet spot in the city.

Washington Square stood lazily in the thin rain. A couple of bacci players, some guys tossing freesbies and the odd dog walker and a wet dog or two populated the park. Where is there a Starbucks when you want one? It was cold and wet and overall, not a good walking day. We lollygagged around till dinnertime, walking some, and ducking into coffee shops to sip something warm and dry out. Dinner was at a little Ethiopian restaurant (called Awash) way uptown, away from the tourists, the fanny packs and the cameras that still stubbornly remained after most of the crowds went home. It was still raining out when we headed back to Penn Station. Scott and I shared a bag of gummy bears, as the day drew to a close and it was no longer my birthday.