Went drinking with the co-workers last night to celebrate my birthday. They planned it with Sonya, who was actually quite sneaky.

Sonya called me yesterday at about ten in the morning to say she wanted to get a drink after work. I thought that sounded like a great idea and didn't see any possibility of it being birthday-related. In my defense, Sonya really did have a shitty day. A drink would have been plausible.

So the co-workers came streaming in and we claimed the big table at the back of T.J. Mulligan's. Lots of raunchy talk of coffee enemas and drunken fiascos past. I have good coworkers. I had more than a few black-and-tans and I felt quite happily birthday'd by the time the evening was over.

Today was the actual birthday itself, and it was fine. Sonya gave me a volume of the collected works of Derek Walcott, and James and Jen gave me a Saints night light and a book called Pretty In Pink - a scholarly overview of '80s movies. Cool. The Wife made me a vegetable lasagna, too, and it was too damned good.

I might add Sonya has given me various and assorted goodies over the past month. We believe in spreading out the holidays here in the Williams House.

The next few look very busy. Besides the usual work gig, we've got a Redbirds game tomorrow, Cats Friday night and The Blair Witch Project followed by an appearance of Frankie Goes To Hollywood on Saturday night.

The Frankie Goes To Hollywood show is problematic. I talked to Todd, the owner of Newby's, and he told me that it was the original Frankie and Co. As far as my research shows, though, the original band isn't touring. The Flyer came out today, and the ad for Newby's has a circa 1983 picture of the band. No one knows, really, but I think we're going to go regardless.

James and I, driving to Wherehouse Music this evening to exchange a movie, drove past the Hershey plant.

"Lot of fudge-packers work there," James observed.

"Yep," I agreed, "and no one wants to be an apprentice fudge-packer."

"But they all want to become a journeyman fudge-packer," James continued.

"Yes, then they can go from town to town, practicing their fudge-packing art."

We both believe that fudge-packers aspire towards one goal: becoming a Master Fudge-Packer.

I ventured that the vice-president in charge of fudge-packing might be responsible for the teabagging department as well.

It was a silly conversation, wasn't it?

So, as a birthday special, here are some Birthdays From Harold's Past. Enjoy!

• 1988: Spent the birthday on Cape Cod, hanging with my brother in-law's family. They talked funny, but I liked them. I'd just dumped my first girlfriend and I spent lots of time sitting on the beach. An excellent birthday.
• 1989: My mom gave me a pizza party at the local Pizza Hut. Then my friend Stephen took me to see Lethal Weapon 2. I got some Batman boxer shorts that I wore for far too long.
• 1990: My eighteenth. Did nitrous for the first time, then got tanked and was escorted to 616 by a group of friends. First time I danced at a club. I realized I really liked bars.
• 1991: Drank beer, ate Little Caesar's pizza, and told the story of Lizzie Borden to Sonya and Angie. Managed to scare myself pretty good.
• 1992: Working at Arby's, I went to steal a letter off our big light-up sign. I managed to knock a letter off and catch it in the mouth, swelling my lower lip up to amazing proportions.
• 1993: Turned 21, went swimming late at night at the country club where my friend Donnie worked. The cops chased us off.
• 1994: Got my parrot tattoo.

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