A Quarter Century of Martin

“The wide world is all about you; you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.”

In 2.5 hours, I turn 25. As in years. Holy freaking mother of crap I am going to be 1/4 of a century old! Frankly, to deal with it, I am pretending it is happening to someone else. It's like, "Oh wow, that person is 25. I wish I had a sandwich." Me being 25 just doesn't, you know, sound right. Sandwiches, however, do.

And then, as Tolkien points out, it's not like I can fence out the fact that I'm getting older. No, I've got to embrace it, make it mine. I mean, it's happening with or without my consent, so it's more a matter of accepting reality than creating it, but there will be a moment, prolly in the next few days, where I look in the mirror and become okay with being an adult.

I remember, when I used to sell pianos at Trombino Piano, the owner, Mr. Trombino, came to visit me one day. It was very awkward - here was a self-made man, late into his seventies and more tan than God (if he were tan) who had sold accordions out of the back of his car until he'd built a million-plus business, and there I was, the itinerant me who had sold maybe one of two pianos in 7 months and owed Mr. Trombino roughly $3,000 in commission. Needless to say, we talked briefly. It was summer. My 20th birthday was approaching. He asked me, "How old are you?"

"I'll be 20 in a couple weeks."

"20. Time to grow up, son."

Then he left, and his words have haunted me. Time to grow up. Their vagueness keeps them dangerous.

The closest Emily and I ever came to a fight in our brief time together was over fajitas. I had been reading "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus," and as I sat there spooning guacamole onto warm bread, enlightening her about the heteronormative pages of that little pearl of a book, the fur on her neck stood up, as though a lightning cloud were hovering above, and she said, "If you were any other person, I would have written you off already."

She said later, on the steps of Jeffrey's apartment, that she could see how much I was struggling, as though my manhood was something I was seeking outside myself instead of as an organic progression of me. And as I thought about her words, I realized how that applied to so many challenges in my life, how I was constantly looking outside myself for answers. I just feel like I'm sometimes the least-qualified person to answer my questions. You can't solve a problem with the same mind that created it. When it comes to being an adult, the only image I can see is myself, kneeling before a dais with faceless men in black robes, and wordlessly they lower a heavy metal mantle onto my shoulders. It's like I'm waiting for a moment to transform me magically into 'Man Martin.' And, frankly, it's scary.

I'm in Alexandria tonight. Jess and I managed, by some feat of willpower as yet unequaled in our collective lifetime, to get my television into our apartment. You know whenever you see people carrying a body in a movie? Well, my TV weighs 175lbs, and I could not lift that. We ended up pushing it up the steps screen-side down, and aside from a big crack in the top casing, it's no worse for the wear. Jess wanted to celebrate my birthday today, and we had the most amazing evening.

We live in Old Town Alexandria, which is this amazing, European-styled hamlet town full of restaurants and little shops. There is a restaurant we saw called "Bilbo Baggins," and one of the tag-lines on the windows of the yellow building reads: "Quality Food is Our Hobbit."

Jessie has this amazing ability to hear something once and then make it come true. She knows that it's one of my dreams to go to France again, and so for my birthday she looked up and made reservations at one of the best French restaurants in DC, La-Bergerie. We got there around 5:45, and were the only ones in the restaurant for like an hour. As such, we got amazing service. They pulled the table out so we could sit down behind it, and then they slid it back. We ate in innumerable courses. There was this old Frenchman (who looked strangely like Mr. Trombino) who took our orders, and then yelled at all the other servers in French to work harder. There were more employees than customers, so Jess and I laughed in nervous silence for a bit, counting the chandeliers and watching the little lumiere in the center of the table. We couldn't stay quiet, though, when the food started coming: warm bread, AMAZING baked onion soup, Caesar Salad made table-side with an egg-yolk and anchovies, and for dinner Dover sole with butter and lemon sliced so thin it melted in your mouth, one taste after the other, a kaleidoscope. I loved it. Loved loved LOVED it. Food should be an event. For dessert we had chocolate souffle, and upon tasting it Jess said, "It tastes like womb!" Which is probably the best description of it you'll ever hear. Chocolate womb. Mmmm.

Afterwards, we caught the wonderful "Stardust" at the local movie palace. I loved the movie! Very cute, and with a real sense of wonder. It made me want to come home and start writing the scene I dreamt 11 years ago with the wizard and the fires...

There is so much to say. I recorded my debut CD on Tuesday and Wednesday - I'll have to tell you all about it :)

Happy birthday, me. May your fences be wisely set.

-martin