Since tomorrow is my birthday, I will take a cue from Walt Disney’s rendition of Alice In Wonderland and sing myself the “Unbirthday Song.”

Now that I’ve done that, I feel better.

Jenn gave me her gift early since she realized I’d suspect something if she hadn’t, and rightly so. She got me lettering for my Winter Hawks jersey - my favorite player, Eric Bowen, #26. For those in the Winter Hawks know I’ll admit that no, he wasn’t the greatest player in the world. He was a mediocre puck handler and had okay skating skills. But when he was on the ice, no opponent was safe from the wrath, man. That boy would throw down unlike anything ever seen. He’s actually what convinced me to buy season tickets in the first place.

So Jenn took me and my jersey to Northwest Skate Authority and we sent it out for lettering. Yay, me! I’m stoked. I have wanted that for a long time but really didn’t know when I’d get it done. So now it’s good to go, and I’m a happy camper.

Speaking of birthdays and unbirthdays (sort of): let it be known that I hate cards. I hate ‘em. Cards are the sappiest, most meaningless show of feeling ever. It’s $3 you’ll never reclaim - you get the card, you sign your name, you hand it to the recipient, they read it, they pitch it. There’s the life cycle. If they’re environmentally conscious, they might recycle it. However, there are two exceptions that I have found thus far to the “card rule.” The first is a handmade card. Anyone who takes the time to create a card by hand - not just with one of those ready-made card programs on the computer, but actually works to create the card - has legitimized their feelings in physical form. I appreciate that. The second is a certain series of cards distributed by Flavia Art. This particular series has a nice, rich artwork to it, a decorated envelope, and just pretty much makes me happy just looking at them. Here’s a birthday card in that series; here’s the anniversary card I bought my parents this year. They have posters like that, too. Good stuff.

Jenn and I go see The Phantom of the Opera on Wednesday. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve never seen it before, but I know the music by heart, so I’m expecting great things.

Oh… went shopping this weekend with Jenn because she wanted to find a dress to wear to Phantom and something for my sister’s wedding on August 9. I’m not sure if I’d call it a successful trip. See, I’m not too picky about clothing. Or maybe I just find stuff that I like and buy it regardless of how it hangs on me, how it’s cut, etc. If I like it and it generally fits, I get it. I mean, I walked into the store, wasn’t even looking for shorts, and found some rockin’ shorts that fit, on sale. No problems.

Jenn’s more of an enigma in that respect. She didn’t want a black dress because you “can’t wear black to a wedding” (why, exactly, is beyond me; I’m wearing a black suit, after all). She didn’t want anything too long because it’s going to be hot at Phantom (it’s pretty hot this week in Portland). And so on.

Anyway, we shopped for hours. Seriously. I walked the entire mall, saw everything I wanted to see in every other store, and still spent time in the “man chair” outside the womens’ dressing room in Meier and Frank. In the end, you know what she bought?

A sleeveless black dress that goes to the ground, in the style of one of those Chinese dresses. And she’s not even going to wear it in the near future. She’ll wear something more casual to Phantom so I don’t have to wear a suit (which is a good thing) and then wear an outfit she already owns to the wedding.

Sigh.

Other than that, I’m still reading The Bourne Identity and totally loving it. I think I may dedicate some time to it when I get home.