Ruminations on a birthday

I truly believe that, for the most part, birthdays are for the people orbiting the celebrant, rather than the other way around. The object of attention would usually prefer to not be the object of attention; the one pointed out to be the birthday boy or girl at the restaurant or the one who smiles sheepishly as coworkers sing happy birthday. Although the conventional wisdom says that a birthday is the one day you get to be most selfish, in fact it is the one day you can’t be selfish. If I had my way, my birthday would basically go unnoticed. But instead, it usually comes with obligations to allow a parade of mirth to swirl around me when I’d rather just ignore it.
But people like it, and I will admit that there is some pleasure to be derived from knowing that people think enough of me to do it.
I got a very interesting gift yesterday. Usually I find that I hate to get gifts because they are usually things I don’t need or want and it’s just another thing to add to my collection of stuff. But Mike and Jann got me a truly odd gift that I can’t quite categorize. It’s a pocket watch. A beautiful one, with two sides and it gives off a steampunky vibe that is very attractive. It’s something I neither needed or wanted until I held it in my hand. It’s just… neat.
But the question arises: what will I do with it? Well, I am going to have to cultivate some kind of style now, a kind of style that allows me to wear a pocket watch every once in a while. Waistcoats or something. I’m envisioning a bit of Victorian old west meets Jules Verne…