Seems I was bursting with stuff to write about today, and now that I have the time, my focus has gone all blurry.

The cold I woke up with isn't helping. It's not a bad one, but it's there and is making my head feel like it's filled with cement.

I was going to talk a little more about TV, which is almost like a novelty for me, but instead I'll tell you that I executed two emergency maneuvers on the freeway today. Two. In one day. I don't normally make two in even half a year.

The thing that precipitated this evening's maneuver was pretty wild. Dude in the slow lane turned left across the freeway, perpindicular to traffic, which was moving at around 80 mph, all the way across the freeway, directly in front of me in the fast lane, spins the back end around and crashes ass-first into the center divider, bounces off, and heads directly towards me, his front end pointed at my front end--at a slight angle. I, with ice-water running through my veins of course, already knowing that there was space to my right, confirmed that in the mirrors, made a sharp, clean change into the lane to my right, pass the car still sliding towards me, missing it by a healthy few feet, and moved back into the fast lane. I slowed, pulled on to the shoulder, called 911, they didn't need me, I bailed.

Would I have managed that as coolly and confidently were it not for all this track day mayhem? I think I would have done okay, but today I did it better.

I can now testify that these High Performance Driving Events (HPDEs) really do make you a safer, better driver. It's not hype, nor just an excuse to get out on the track and drive your car at its limits--which we all love to do. The work you do on the track really does translate to the road.

So this means that I get to have my birthday tomorrow in good health. Well, except for the cold.

Number 38 on the horizon.

This is a weird one. Normally, the big ones are supposed to be the ones divisible by five. 30 didn't faze me. 35 was alright too. Anything before that was practically fun.

And last year's 37 was...meh. Nothing special, but nothing bad either. Just there.

This one's been bugging me for the last couple of weeks. I don't know why. At moments I feel like for the first time, I'm really past any last outpost of youth; like, not only do I no longer possess the requisite enthusiasm for youthfulnessness, but it's a condition that has now been closed off to me, even if I had the enthusiasm. It's as if an entire generation just opened up between me and the youngest adults in the world, and we no longer precisely relate. If I were to go to their clubs and try to have their fun, I'd be that pathetic older dude who can't grow up gracefully and wears jeans that are too tight.

On the other hand, a friend at work honestly thought I was barely 30, so that's nice I suppose, although I'm pretty indifferent to the thrill of being thought younger than I am. I'm generally pretty comfortable with getting older.

Except this time.

If I figure out what's at the bottom of it, I'll let you know. I'm a bit perplexed really.

So what's the plan? Assuming I'm feeling okay, I might have dinner tomorrow night with a very small handful of friends. I'm thinking about having a party kind of thing on Saturday, since I haven't had one in a long time. Nothing too ambitious, and I know there are several competing events that will keep some people away, but that's okay. Even if it's just ten or fifteen friends, that's fine. If you're reading this and you live in LA, I probably know you and like you, so if I didn't invite you personally (due to me being the inexcusably worst correspondant and keeper of emails and phone numbers and addresses ever), don't let that stop you from coming over.

Crap. Time to sleep. Hopefully this cold will disappear and my memory will return and I'll write the rest of the stuff down and it will come out clearly and fluidly and all will be peace and harmony.