A secondary birthday, hurrah!

Tomorrow is my secondary birthday: 26 years in these here United States, with brief interruptions. I seriously think of this as a birthday, of sorts. When I first came here, my family strongly encouraged me to assimilate. So I did, the result being that my Russian-ness (whatever that is) froze at the level of a 16 year old, and my American-ness (whatever that is) began at that point. I can talk about girls and algebra in Russian (and broken English), but I can only discuss politics and calculus in English (and extremely rudimentary and broken Russian).

Yeah, verily, I was a babe in the woods in late 1981, but a beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking, skirt-chasing babe. That ought to have caused some problems, you'd say, and you'd be right; all kinds of problems, from a textbook-perfect form of arrested development via ODS and Peter Pan syndrome to a possibly debilitating case of ADHD (whatever that is). In fact, it is only now, at a ripe (American) age of 26, that I am beginning to slowly realize the errors of my partying days and becoming more willing to make adult sacrifices to facilitate an interesting life and career, only to discover that I am indeed an overgrown adolescent. An adolescent with a college education, and—even if I say so—some claim to intellectual sophistication, but an adolescent anyway. Truly, this would be almost depressing if it wasn't so bloody hilarious. Oh well.

I'mo celebrate by drinking large quantities of fermented (and maybe distilled) beverages and enlisting the help of hopefully numerous members of the opposite sex to help me remember. What it is I am remembering, exactly, is nobody's business, perhaps not even mine, but remember it I shall, and enlightenment may be achieved. After all, everything will turn out allright, unless it doesn't.

Tomorrow never knows.