It’s My Birthday — So, Here’s a Special Post

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I feel like I have good people I love and know scattered across this crazy world. I’m scattered. So it works. Today is my birthday. It’s always an in-between day, but I’ve learned to stop worrying and love the bomb — I mean — the day!

Personal Revelation: Happy Birthday Post (To Me!)

Today is my birthday. I will not reveal my age because you could do a quick Google search and figure it out for yourself. However, I feel young-ish. Happy birthday to me!

I won't reveal when this photograph was taken.

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🌱 Have you ever caught yourself apologizing for simply being who you are? Today, I had a powerful realization: I often say sorry when I'm my most authentic self. It's as if there's a part of me that wants to "correct" my behavior, to put me back in the "proper" place.

🔗 Why? Because that's how I was raised. Growing up, I was told—either explicitly or implicitly—that being "me" wasn't always acceptable. That showing my true colors was somehow a disruption, something to be muted or hidden away. 

🎭 We carry these learned behaviors into adulthood without even realizing it. They become automatic, a reflex. But the question is, why should we have to apologize for being authentic? Why should we dampen our own light?

🤔 It's time to break the cycle. Instead of apologizing for who I am, I'm choosing to embrace myself fully—quirks, idiosyncrasies, and all. After all, it's those very characteristics that make each of us unique, valuable, and irreplaceable.

✨ So if you've ever felt the need to apologize for being yourself, remember that you're not alone. But let's make a pact right now to stop saying sorry for being the amazing individuals we are. Because authenticity is something to celebrate, not apologize for.

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Grandson and Grandfather: Birthday Portrait

I went to a birthday party today in Jersey City.

A one-year-old and his ninety-nine-and-a-half year old grandfather

I like comparing and contrasting, juxtaposing, and setting images side by side. When @seefuego’s son, the birthday boy, smiled at his ninety-nine-and-a-half-year-old grandfather, I quickly snapped the picture. Noah just turned one. His grandfather, an immigrant from the South of Italy, will turn one hundred soon. He told me he had fought during World War Two, stationed on an island in Guam. When the Americans dropped two atomic bombs on Japan — he told me, “The war was over, but it took me five months to get home. Once the transport ship arrived in Los Angeles, I had to fly home [back to New York].” He also spoke about being an Italian kid — “Growing up, I spoke a dialect of Italian, and I did not know English well. But in school, I was forbidden from speaking Italian. And I had to stand in the back of the classroom. I thought fighting in the war would prove my service to my country. So I joined the war effort. I was young.” It was remarkable hearing his story — and listening to him as Noah, his grandchild, frolicked in a space suit — his obsession. And by coincidence — his birthday coincides with the @nasa Artemis moon mission — an uncrewed spacecraft that safely returned to Earth today.

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#jersey #immigrant #immigration #birthday #italy #centenarian via stonesoferasmus.com

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Christmas Season Travel Report: A Balmy Winter Day in New Orleans (And It’s My Birthday)

<Why, hello!> she said. Just another balmy Winter day in NOLA.

     Today is a balmy Winter day in New Orleans. Mornings in this city feel hazy and not quite woken up. It’s a city of the nighttime and in the morning everyone’s either leaving a bar to go home or someone’s yawning and stretching, trying to come alive. Here are pictures I took of friends and me coming alive in this crescent 🌙 city. It’s also my birthday today. I’m forty years old. Or, forty years young — as we like to say it.

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I’m traveling with two teacher friends of mine - Michelle and Lauren. They both convinced me it would be a good idea to celebrate Winter break and my birthday in New Orleans. So here we are at the Palace Café on Canal Street. 

I have two old friends from New Orleans, Tony, and André to share the day. That’s me in the middle of the photo. It’s refreshing to see familiar faces in a familiar city. I’m happy. Let me know in the comments if you can read my shirt. 

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Today is Harry Potter's 38th Birthday

Harry Potter turns 38 years old today (and yes, I am keeping up with the birthday of a fictional character). Also, it's J.K. Rowling's 53rd birthday. If you don't know what I am talking about, then you can pick up a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and start reading.

In 2008, I dressed up as Harry Potter

Our lives have run parallel, Harry. When you were 11, you were on your way to Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry. I was in Sixth Grade set for middle school in Louisiana. At 38, you were a husband with three kids and slightly depressed working for the Ministry of Magic. At 38, I was gay and single, working as a High School English Language teacher.

Where do our storylines lead us now? Will J.K. Rowling write stories about a forty-something Harry Potter? Has the world had its full of Harry Potter and his wizarding world?

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NOLA: Saint Charles Streetcar at Freret Street

Taking the Saint Charles Avenue streetcar from my house to a birthday party, I make a few observations along the way.

Winter in New Orleans is Stupid Cold, Ya Heard?       
      28 degrees in New Orleans is as cold as -6 degrees in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Most of us have opted to stay at home. Usually, on a Sunday afternoon, the streetcar is softly filled with tourists making their way past Saint Charles's homes and oak-lined streets. Not today, Satan.
Taking the Streetcar To Attend A Birthday Party
     I am on my way to a birthday party on Saint Louis street. It is a surprise party. I may be late. Punctuality has never been a well-groomed commodity of mine.
     A young couple reverts their seats so they can look at each other and converse. Otherwise, the car is quiet.
The Hum of the Streetcar is My Anodyne for Anxiety
     It never seems to bother me, the contemplative nature of public transportation. If only I can always look and feel while I travel. The back of the car is the front and the front is the back. I tend to migrate to the back and look out as the scenery moves into the past.

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