I dislike birthdays and being given presents.
Is that odd? Quite possibly.
I do not know when this abhorrence for gifts came about but I have not celebrated my birthday for close to twenty years (I’m thirty-three now). I guess it may stem from a childhood where I was rarely given what I wished for. I remember making huge lists of things I wanted (all books), reams and reams of carefully jotted-down titles. In retrospect, I may have been disappointed through my own greed but I was never disappointed with what I did receive.
There are presents which I had that filled me with joy, that was not what I asked for but was what I enjoyed massively. Such as the huge Manta Force spaceship or the naked Gordon the Gopher puppet or the copy of Alexander Besher’s Rim when it first came out.
As a young schoolboy I had the usual worries such as spots, girls and wondering if I was the son of God. Being thirty-three now, I kinda hope that I am not. Otherwise I am royally screwed. As such, I am currently being rather cagey about hanging around Romans and huge crucifixes. This has nothing to do with the subject of the blog, I am just putting it out there for public ridicule.
If you believe in reincarnation, I could be the returned soul of Nestor Chylak, American baseball player and umpire, or Thelonious Monk, American pianist and composer or Lee Strasberg, Austrian-American actor and director. More likely, a slug was squished and was reborn as me. C’est la vie. This has nothing to do with the blog either. I am just teasing y’all with my birth date.
A few years ago, while I was boning up on archaeology for my degree, I invented my own holiday which I placed over the top of Christmas. And I called this holiday Krispmouse (which my computer’s spell-check function laughingly insists should be spelt ‘mousetrap’). After the first couple of years, Krispmouse became more than just a Chrimbo substitute though. It became a holiday which could be celebrated at any time of the year. So me and a group of like-minded friends would create our own Krispmouse cards and Krispmouse presents involving our version of Santa Claus, the Krisp Mouse. After five or six years, the holiday died out. When our Krisp Mouse evolved into the Krisp Moose, we knew to call it a day. Now I know what it felt like when Oliver Cromwell outlawed Christmas all those centuries ago.
The last time I received a birthday card was when I was 21. It was from my mother and it had a pint of beer on the front. Being someone who had not, up to that point in time (or at all), drank beer, I wasn’t ecstatic to be given a card that had next-to-none relevance to me. This was probably another nail in the coffin.
A few years ago, an ex-girlfriend gave me a portable CD player and it was as if she had handed me a basket full of poisonous snakes. I like music. I listen to music all the time but the thought of the gift sent shivers down my spine. As such, I think I accidently-on-purpose left it in a hotel room somewhere. Mind you, I think I still have the Billie Holiday CD she gave me. I listen to that a lot.
I am probably coming off as a little selfish in this blog but that is okay, I am not afraid of showing myself warts-and-all. But let me flip it, I love giving other people gifts and cards and letters and suchlike. It is one of the main pleasures in such occasions, that you can make someone feel happy by spending the time to gift/card them. Actually, it is still selfish because I am doing it partly for the feeling of well-being it gives me. Hah! I can’t win…
I am not sure what kind of person this makes me. It is a part of who I am. I will probably change in time, one day I will enjoy receiving perhaps.
To quote the Krisp Mouse, “Have a Hairy Krispmouse! Si vous le voulez…”