I am older. One year older to be exact, which makes this the thirty-fourth year I've existed on this planet ... and I don't believe in acting my age. What does 'acting your age' mean anyway? Does it mean having kids and settling down while working on a beer paunch? I'll take a pass on that if it does. As long as my body is ready and willing, I have no intention of moving towards that definition of old.
To mark my birthday, my weekend was filled with a flurry of activities. It started with going to a cowboy saloon where there was line dancing and a mechanical bull that I was determined to break in. I did break in something, alright, coming off second best with a few friction burns, bruises, torn callouses on my hands and ripped jeans. The bull had beaten me but I think I did gain some respect for my dogged persistence (some would say foolhardiness). Strangely enough, I felt alright the next day and followed that up with Kayaking, beach tennis and clubbing at boulevard3. It was probably one of the coolest clubs I've been to. Good sound system, good production and great dancers. It was also a little trippy (surprise, surprise), with a guy on stilts flipping this little Asian girl around the stage while he wore a black bandanna across his face bandito-style. This was followed up with some contortionist krunk/krump dancers that did weird things with their shoulder blades and were generally wiggity wiggity whack (to use a 90'sism). It was really cool and the music was a good blend of RnB, house and pop. And so, to summarise: I had a good weekend and, as long as this is what getting older involves, bring on the next year.
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