Alas, birthday number 21

Birthdays, bloody birthdays, everyone makes such hoopla over birthdays. Especially the twenty-first one, 'round here.

Must have somthing to do with the American
obsession with alcohol. I mean, nobody goes out
on their eighteenth and gets completely drafted;
noone spends the whole day voting in all the
local districts, either.

So whoop-de-doo. Now I can legally drink. So I had a glass of wine for which the waiter forgot to charge me at dinner. And he gave us free dessert, also. I regret leaving him only eight bucks for a tip (the bill was less than $30.00, barely).

And I watched The Green Mile, and leveled myself up to Crafter, by noding up Project Gutenberg's copy of Erewhon.

Neither really feels like an accomplishment, but really, this was just another day

Seems like it was pretty much the same sort of thing for all of us, really.