It's my birthday... • 3 October 2007 • The SnowBlog
It's my birthday...
...today, and, as you'll know if you've been paying attention, I am 33.
33 is a good age because of the fact that there are two of the same digits. Like 22, or 11. Next one will be 44, then 55, 66, 77, 88, 99... er, 111! I hope cybernetic* science makes some big leaps of progress soon. What was I doing when I was 11? Starting at Big School. I like the bit at the end of Buffy season whatever, when the Principal aka big snakey demon has just been blown up after trying to eat everyone at graduation, and the scooby gang are assembled on the grass bank opposite the smouldering remains of the school. The dialogue goes thus:
Oz: "Guys. Take a moment to deal with all this. We survived."
Buffy: "It was a hell of a battle."
Oz: "Not the battle. High school."
A sentiment that most children can understand, and at age 11 it was all just starting.
Fast forward to 22. What was I doing then? It was 1996 and I had just graduated with a BA in Archaeology. Ask me anything about archaeology. Go on, ask me. On my birthday I would have been working at Superdrug in the logistics department, on the Kingfisher management development scheme. University was good because I realised for the first time that I was quite bright, compared to the real population - not just the select population of a posh girls' school. So at 22 I was a lot more confident, although with a healthy underpinning of insecurity to encourage me to work really, really hard. I was also really ambitious - how about that - although at that age, I was ambitious for a more usual type of success. "Senior management within seven to ten years" was the slogan of the management development scheme that I was on. Well, I did it - but possibly not in the way that they intended.
And here I am at 33. And I'm pretty pleased with myself. Part-owner of a stunning little business; married to a smashing chap, with two cats; house in the country; robins on the bird table and bunnies on the lawn. What could be better. If only my sprained ankle would get better in time for pounding the halls at Frankfurt next week I would say that life is pretty much perfect. A happy birthday indeed!
I wonder what I'll be doing when I'm 44?
*Rob's footnote: Em's probably pinning her hopes on cybernetic science because neither of us think that medical science will be able to make us young again in time to stop us expiring from old age, but computer science might just allow our consciousnesses to be downloaded into giant armoured robot bodies. Not ideal, but still quite cool.
Emma
...today, and, as you'll know if you've been paying attention, I am 33.
33 is a good age because of the fact that there are two of the same digits. Like 22, or 11. Next one will be 44, then 55, 66, 77, 88, 99... er, 111! I hope cybernetic* science makes some big leaps of progress soon. What was I doing when I was 11? Starting at Big School. I like the bit at the end of Buffy season whatever, when the Principal aka big snakey demon has just been blown up after trying to eat everyone at graduation, and the scooby gang are assembled on the grass bank opposite the smouldering remains of the school. The dialogue goes thus:
Oz: "Guys. Take a moment to deal with all this. We survived."
Buffy: "It was a hell of a battle."
Oz: "Not the battle. High school."
A sentiment that most children can understand, and at age 11 it was all just starting.
Fast forward to 22. What was I doing then? It was 1996 and I had just graduated with a BA in Archaeology. Ask me anything about archaeology. Go on, ask me. On my birthday I would have been working at Superdrug in the logistics department, on the Kingfisher management development scheme. University was good because I realised for the first time that I was quite bright, compared to the real population - not just the select population of a posh girls' school. So at 22 I was a lot more confident, although with a healthy underpinning of insecurity to encourage me to work really, really hard. I was also really ambitious - how about that - although at that age, I was ambitious for a more usual type of success. "Senior management within seven to ten years" was the slogan of the management development scheme that I was on. Well, I did it - but possibly not in the way that they intended.
And here I am at 33. And I'm pretty pleased with myself. Part-owner of a stunning little business; married to a smashing chap, with two cats; house in the country; robins on the bird table and bunnies on the lawn. What could be better. If only my sprained ankle would get better in time for pounding the halls at Frankfurt next week I would say that life is pretty much perfect. A happy birthday indeed!
I wonder what I'll be doing when I'm 44?
*Rob's footnote: Em's probably pinning her hopes on cybernetic science because neither of us think that medical science will be able to make us young again in time to stop us expiring from old age, but computer science might just allow our consciousnesses to be downloaded into giant armoured robot bodies. Not ideal, but still quite cool.