On this singular day in history, 1956, Mr Kelly, one of America’s most successful television producers, was born. Put him in a room today with Dan Simmons, Hugo Weaving, Maya Angelou, Graham Norton, Robert Downey Jr, Heath Ledger, David Blaine and Jamie Lynn Spears and you can bet they’d have a hell of a party.
And you can open the door to that party for me, while you’re at it.
It’s my thirtieth birthday.
How is that possible? What the hell happened to my twenties? Where went the time spent travelling the world, taking part in extreme sports, having sex with interesting women and getting high on a variety of drugs? I am now an old fuck. “The days have come down in the west, behind the hills, into shadow.”
Apologies to all the other old fucks out there.
Another quote from Dead Long Enough:
Picture this: a box of matches. And each one of those matches represents a full-on Saturday night. Approximately 52 per box. Scritch-woosh!
How many boxes have you got left? Really? How many real, proper, right-through-the-night, ready-for-romance Saturday bashes do you expect to have this month? This year. Look at the boxes arranged on your bedroom shelf. Not long ago, not more than a couple of years ago, you had so many that you never even thought about counting them. And now, and now: a slim pile. How will you feel when you start on the last one, and know it is all for real? And don’t even think about trying to store them up for later, because it is a damp old world we live in, and if you wait too long you might easily find that when you take your long hoarded box of Saturday nights, all dressed up and thinking at last at last at last, now I am the person I always planned to be, here comes the pay-off, now I can get out there and... you find that all you can do is scrape your saved up time pathetically away with barely a feeble flare.
You use it, you lose it. You don’t use it, you lose it. Who said anything about fair?
Can it be too late to learn to never, ever hesitate to set shit on fire?