I was going to write a post here lamenting that I'm now middle aged, but according to wikipedia I'm not quite there yet. I still feel like this is an unpleasant milestone. 30 is such a round number. It's one of those points where you think, "I remember 5 years ago, and this is about where I was then as well." The same job, though now I work from home and my pay grade in the office has probably about plateaued. My wardrobe is a bit different. My computer is a little smarter. My tv is larger. Lots of great accomplishments, as you can see. I suppose my current apartment is much nicer, but that's about to change.

Today I went to the zoo for a bit. Maybe I should have been going more often because it's free and all.  I saw some joggers who look like they run through it regularly.  I was there hoping for a summer rainstorm but the weather wasn't accomodating. Instead it was just cloudy, hot and sticky, and the only large animals you could see were donkeys. Every animal that could go indoors had done so. We give these zoo animals too many options.

I also spent some time trying to make a good mojito. It's much harder to do than you'd expect. People on the internet like their mojitos either tart or bitter, and I prefer mine sweet. But all these ingredients (there are only about five possibilities) somehow don't add up to a sweet beverage. Even adding lots of sweetened syrup doesn't really work. There must be a secret ingredient somewhere.  Now I'm discouraged and my kitchen is all sticky. Lots of failed mojitos poured right down the drain too. I guess I'm lacking that alcoholic gene.
 
Well I've been screwing around for 30 years, it's time to start making something of my life.

Got lectured by a tourist on the metro train because I was sitting in a handicapped seat while a completely able-bodied lady was standing near the doors with a stroller. Since when is pushing a kid around the same as being handicapped? I get up for pregnant women, people with disabilities, and old people. Or even people who look like they might be unusually uncomfortable standing, on a case by case basis.

The lady in the doorway looked totally capable of standing on the train, and in the shuffle of people getting off and on at stops she didn't look at all interested in grabbing one of the vacated seats. So I didn't get up, and the tourist in the handicapped seat next to me, who was also young and ablebodied and had clogged up the aisleway with her own stroller, bitched in my ear and to her lucky husband for two stops about what despicable person I am.

I didn't call her any names but maybe I should have.  Instead now I just hate people. Happy birthday, America.

(from "W." George Bush to Condoliza Rice after a frustrating telephone call with the president of France)
Next chance that comes up, remind me to veto something French. 'Cause I'd be damn glad to!