Birthdays are so Singular

“Hi welcome to my same name party! I’m so glad you could come.” The door opens wide to a crowd of people dressed up, moving around the living room and kitchen rejoicing; hugging each other, picking up bottles of wine to pour, laughter and music filling the air.

“Thank you. I’m excited to be here Pavla. Hey, how are you going to know who’s calling your attention at this party?” I chuckle. “Birthdays in America are so singular. Maybe Prague can enlighten me to start a collective gathering.”

“By horoscope,” Pavla winks as she hugs me.

I start to hand her a wrapped box. “Oh no, no gifts here. We, same-namers put on the party for you. But this once, how can I resist?” Her hands delicately open and I set the bowed box into her palms.

The beautiful ambiance feeds my soul and I dance my way to the kitchen. Sometimes I can be a hermit, but I’m able to adapt and enjoy a large party. “Hey Pavla’s, thank you for this wonderful evening! Much gratitude,” I hold my hands wide into the air and breathe in whatever the night will bring me.

“Do you need a refill? 2015 Château Greysac?”

“Thank you, Jorge. Refill, first fill, I just arrived.”

“Glad you came, been a while, “Jorge smiles and then turned toward his audience. “So as I was saying, the teacher in France whose head was cut off, is immigration working?”

“Why was the teacher bringing up the cartoon again anyway?” The tall brunette with a BOSS metal clip in her hair annoyingly questions as she tosses an olive in the air and catches it in her mouth.

“Danna, really? Missing the point,” Jorge turns toward me and chumingly wraps his arm around my shoulder, “We are leaving to find the intellectuals in this place.” His big-toothed smile wags in front of Danna. She swats his arm playfully.

We weave by a group of rappers, a few beatboxing while a guy with brown plastic glasses, missing the lenses slams his opponent, “Ya’ dressed like a time machine. Were you in a coma? Is this all a dream?”

“Oooooh”

“Booooom”

“Yeah son,” the crowd chants and urges on.

“You ever rap?” Jorge questions.

“Improv? No, it’s fantastic. Artists. I dig it for sure. All artists are my relative,” I nod respect at the M.C. as we carry on. “I paint, draw, sing-not well, write, and I love to dance. Art is the forefront of change. It’s the movement. Art unites.”

“Not that cartoon in France,” Jorge counters.

“Point. That art, was satire, Jorge. Hey Fynn!” I say entering the outdoor balcony.

“Hey!” Fynn smiles and toasts his beer to my drink. As Jorge puts his in the air, Fynn takes a drink instead. Fynn eyeballs me, “Space which planet are you heading to?”

“Alright, Fynn. You know it would be cool to play reggae music in my rocketship to….Pluto, it’s still a planet to me. With the reggae music, when I meet aliens, they know what type of human I am. Ya know? Speaking of transport. You guys, what we need is rocket fuel, that’s not fuel.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Hear me out. The Mercury Cafe in Denver, Colorado used to run their Volkswagon Bug off the french fry oil they made. They didn’t even have to alter the engine. You guys?! What if we could run a car off our own heartbeat? Our pulse? It can be done. This could solve everything,” I beam.

“You obviously don’t know physics. How would it climb a hill?” Jorge emphatically states to help end this conversation.

“I’m the idea guy. I don’t have the steps along the way. But it can happen, watch. Nobody from 1920 thought we’d be buying water, watching the X-Games or looking directly at someone from a pocket device, but here we are.”

“Buying water sucks,” Jorge laughs.

“True Jorge, that example wasn’t meant to be positive.” I cheers glasses with Jorge and he goes back inside.

“Why are you nice to that guy? I can’t stand Jorge “ Fynn states as he smashes his cigarette into the bottom of his shoe.

“Really?” I am surprised, “He’s a nice guy. I think you two actually have some similarities. I’d think you’d be friends.”

“You get along with everyone” Fynn smiles. “Hey did I see you down off 8th street? You running a podcast now?”

“Yes. It’s fun. I finally actualized my dream of a morning radio show personality,” I laugh.

“Yeah, daydreamer. What’s that like your 5th career?” Fynn jests, “I know I’m that typical numbers guy who has had the same job for 15 years.”

“Yeah man, I float. I’m a gypsy and I have to listen to the winds and follow that direction of change. I liked the marketing job, for sure. Still talk to Jasmine over there, we go to lunch sometimes, good people.”

“Did you see the trout in there?” Robert punches my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’ll eat some.”

“Carnivore. Tell them about the time we went fishing in Montana,” Robert and Fynn fist bump.

“Oh, it was a great trip, we caught like twelve fish in twenty minutes. The heavens were in our favor, or the pond was overstocked. But it was the best and last fishing trip I did. I’m not really one to sit in a boat all day trying to catch a fish. Anyway, we got back to the cabin and I’m trying to cut the head of the trout, but I think the knife was kinda du--”

“No, you wanker, you were too chicken to cut its head off,” Robert shouts.

“Yeah, that knife wasn’t cutting through the scales, that gave me time to look the fish in the eye. I couldn’t kill it. It’s me. We’re related.” Everyone laughs.

“But you’ll eat it?” Robert punches my shoulder again.

“Yes, Robert. A little butter, some spices,” I laugh. Being a chef was another one of my professions; talk about art!

“So what are we doing for your birthday this year?” Fynn lights another cigarette.

“Gentlemen, I think it’s time for our ayahuasca trip, Peru is calling me back. You down?”

"Yes!" Fynn and Robert chime in together and start a victory dance.

Pavla peeks her head onto the deck, and holds her hand out to me, “Hey boys, come inside, it’s time for pie.”