Decadence (noun) The act or process of falling into an inferior condition or state; deterioration; decay: Some historians hold that the fall of Rome can be attributed to internal decadence.
Roman Decadence - something to aspire to?
Admittedly, I try to spice up my blog headlines. Alliteration, fun words, things with a ring to them. You know the deal. You clicked through. Decadent Decade sounded nice. Decadent, with the meaning of “unrestrained or excessive self-indulgence,” a sub-definition. Like, “I’d had a really, really good time these past few years.” Yeah right. The main definition fits, though. Decay. As we age, we decay. But have I fallen into an inferior condition? I’m not sure. I’d like to think I’ve improved. That’s not always the case, but I’m certain I’ve had an exceptionally interesting life. That can’t be bad.
Here I am — the last month of my 20’s. You have to stop and wonder where it went. So, let’s have it. The bizarre, anxious, international adventures of me. Birthdays from 1999-2009. Where did the time go?
- 20th birthday (1999): popular upscale Italian restaurant with two college friends and my parents after spending a quiet day at home in Skokie and roaming Evanston — I remember taking at least 30-60 minutes with my friends just watching the dogs playing at the dog beach by Northwestern University. I’d had a birthday party a couple days before at my summer sublet apartment in Hyde Park. It was so hot, I told people not to bring gifts, just to bring electric fans…three to five friends, no more, sat around in the dark on the wood floor drinking cold beer, eating hors d’oeuvres and salads, with several fans rotating around us. I wasn’t too happy about it. But it was kind of an adventure.
- 21st birthday (2000): one of the worst. Israel, after having backpacked for a month or more across Europe starting in Ireland to get there without taking to the air…last leg was taking a ferry from Greece into Haifa. My birthday fell on last day or two of bad food poisoning got in Jerusalem from bad meat, and I was still on a liquid diet. A good friend was visiting from Ireland, and she was flying out at 4 am or so. At midnight, we ate a gelatin-mold “cake” with a matchstick as a candle. She left for the airport. I spent the day wandering Tel Aviv in the sweltering heat, miserable that I was alone, that I couldn’t eat, that this was supposed to be the one, real adulthood, the drop dead best party. And I was staring at feral cats in a dodgy area while getting sunstroke on a park bench. The queen of self-pity. The one good thing: my “adoptive family” in Ireland had given me a gift, something in a small square jewelry box from Brown Thomas, tres chic and special, tied with two long satin ribbons, with the instructions that I was to open it only on my birthday. I carried that box with me through more than ten countries. It was really a moment when I got to open it. A fine elegant silver bracelet. I’ll remember it always. And now that I think of it, I was ever so glad not to have been alone at midnight. She was a very kind soul.
- 22nd birthday (2001): I was in a training week in rural Michigan to be a summer camp counselor and drama specialist. The kids hadn’t arrived yet, and we, the 21-25 year old instructors had bonded a lot. They sang for me, gave me a cake, novelty gifts, and we probably drove out to the country road and the nearest gas station for a cold beer. I felt really safe and loved. I was wary before of being with strangers, but it turned out to be one of the best birthdays, ever.
- 23rd birthday (2002): Rural Delaware, after a year of living a bizarre half-life amongst people twice to three times my age, picking myself up after being dreadfully lost following graduation the year before. And I knew I was leaving less than a month later for London. Had just created and run a drama camp and was in the midst of a radio producing/editing storm. There was an elegant dinner that I cooked, and all of my 50 year old friends were there. I remember wearing a cornflower-blue Provencal-style flowing dress and sitting at the head of the table in a grand dining room in my cousin’s Victorian house where I lived. Everyone there gave me a bit of advice. I don’t remember much of any of it. But it was a good day. And then I left for London.
- 24th birthday (2003): London. A semi-dodgy East-End neighborhood called Leyton. Was a cook and barmaid in the City all summer. Subleased a room that turned out to be a caravan – yes, a caravan, like a tiny motor home – in the garden of a standard semi-detached row-house. Because it was a corner lot, the garden was in a “L” shape, and there was ample room for the caravan, which was covered in ivy and colorful sweet smelling flowers and had a nice wooden deck built out from it on one side onto a small stream or creek. The house was full of travelers: Aussies, Kiwis, S.Africans, Canadians – and for the summer, I was one of them. It was a great time. I decided on having as real a garden party as I could create in the late afternoon and through the night. I baked real scones and pies and cakes and probably some other savory things. All my “flatmates” were there, and several people from my MFA course came as well. Someone brought out a spliff at the end of the evening. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it now, but I’d hooked up with a guy at a friend’s party the night before, and he had come as well. It was awkward, like “who is he,” but also kind of nice to have someone to flirt with. Good fun.
- 25th birthday (2004): Skokie. Party in the garden. Lots of pretty cakes that I’d baked, salads, casseroles, barbecue. Old friends. My parents. My best from from Delaware flew in. Friends of my parents, too. A sunny evening. I had just been hired at a big art museum, my first big real job after graduating from London, after searching for more than three months for work. I wore my red embroidered tunic from Bangkok, the one I thought was so elegant yet comfortable. It was a decent day. There’s some video of me introducing each of the cakes I made in great excited detail.
- 26th birthday (2005): Chicago, a local bar close to my apartment. I “held court” and friends came by for several hours. My sister was there visiting and stayed with me the whole time. I paid for platters of appetizers. People got their own drinks. It wasn’t great. Not too many people came. It was awkward. But I had my sister. The next day was my real birthday, and my family met us at the Chicago Diner, a vegetarian restaurant with great brunch. We sat in the back patio area, had seitan scrambles, wheat grass and beet shakes, and they showered me with presents. The biggie was a briefcase from my dad. My mother had gotten me tons of trinkets from her recent trip to Korea and China. My sister and I then went to a Korean public bath and I paid for us both to enjoy the sauna, steam room, whirlpools, and body scrubs – a tiny old Korean woman wearing lacy undies and bra scraping us with incredible gusto with something like steel wool and regular green soap, gray clumps of skin falling off everywhere. It hurt. But it was fabulous. Then my parents took the two of us out to a very fancy Italian restaurant in Evanston. It was a fun few days. Good memories.
- 27th birthday (2006): Chicago, a friend’s huge gorgeous brownstone house and garden in the amazing Old Town neighborhood. Because I was living at my parents’ place (I knew I wanted to move to Israel – gave up my apartment), she had volunteered her house to use. My middle sister was again visiting, and she and I cooked all day long. And then almost nobody showed up. It was a nightmare. The hostess got moody in the middle of the party and holed up on her own. She and some of my friends did not get along. At the end of it all we were all kind of pissed off and being passive aggressive and it wasn’t a nice scenario in the kitchen cleaning up afterward. I felt horrible that I had cooked so much, went to so much trouble, and so few people showed. And I was even more on edge and sad and embarrassed that this had happened not at my own place, and that I had troubled someone else over the whole thing. On top of it all, I remember feeling anxiety that I was officially in my “late 20s.” Scared that I was old and unaccomplished. Despite the job. Despite the theatre I had done in the last two years. I missed my sisters in Tel Aviv. I wanted to live authentically. Do something just for me. And do it with courage. It was just a disappointing stressful evening that was out of my control.
- 28th birthday (2007): back in Chicago. I had just come back from 6 months in Israel where I’d written the bulk of my novel. I was working a temp job in Evanston at a corporate beauty school of all places. Saving up to go back to Israel in the fall after a good friend’s wedding. I decided I did NOT want to cook for my own birthday and specifically did not want to bake my own cake for yet another year. My parents, rather my dad, did me the honor of smoking a few gorgeous slabs of ribs and making a cake. The cake kind of fell apart on him, and I did end up “fixing” it so it could be eaten. But that’s OK. Many of my friends came, almost all were couples (a first..being the only singleton at your own party), and two brought cakes, and we had a glorious dinner. The day of my birthday, my parents took me back to that super fancy Italian restaurant in Evanston. They gave me men’s socks and movie vouchers. That part really sucked. I had asked for and expected an ipod. I was really upset. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. It was the only thing I wanted. I asked for the cheapest one, a shuffle. I could have bought it myself. And they took me out for this mega-expensive meal, several hundred dollars worth…and they gave me socks and movie tickets. Good lord.
- 29th birthday (2008): Tel Aviv. Took half a day off work from my internet startup job. Bought a dress. Got a massage. Bought some nice face products. Went to the beach. Ate a whole plate of fries and drank a beer. Waited for friends. A few came. Then we walked together to an Ethiopian restaurant. More friends met us there. Had the whole place to ourselves and sat in their outdoor section. Shared a bottle of wine. Laughed. Someone pulled out a joint. Even though we were in “public” it was so secluded…kind of fun. After dinner it was late…we walked up to the incredible art studio of a friend’s friend. Hung out. Then the guy I was dating took me home. We messed about. And we broke it off the next day. Sad. But only bittersweet. We stayed friends. An OK birthday. I planned well for the “disappointment fact” by doing things I enjoyed…a massage, the beach.
So there we have it. A decade of birthdays. Three countries. Lots of cake. Lots of barbecue. Lots of Italian food for some reason. Good friends. It’s funny. I end up feeling so disappointed – not enough people came, things didn’t go according to plan, my parents were assholes – and the like. But the memory doesn’t last long term. Even my crappy 21st birthday. I can laugh about it now. Like I’m consoling my younger former self.
Trends and stuff that I can learn from: garden parties/barbecues predominate. Well, it’s summer, why not. The best birthday of the lot may have been with semi-strangers/new friends in rural Michigan. I had low expectations, so I suppose that when it turned out to be great fun, it was more than fun for me. It was miraculously good. The worst birthdays were when I was alone, had high expectations, and/or was disappointed by parents or myself. So what can I learn from all this? Outdoor parties work, try not to expect much – maybe with the goal being to have a laid back fun time myself, and make sure a definite number of people can and will be there to help out (and so I’m not perceiving myself to be “alone”). Taking care of “me time” is also a good idea. A massage goes a long way. Right? Right. I think I’m on the right track for this coming birthday. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…
Queen of Sheba Cake - one of my faves to make and to eat
