Year 08 Archives

Last year I approached my 25th birthday with trepidation – I’m on the younger side of my group of friends, and I’d watched each of them struggle with some variety of a quarter-life crisis. Who am I? What am I doing with myself? What am I spending all of my time and money on? The questions seemed as endless as they were answerless.

To boot, the end of my first quarter was off to an inauspicious start: I had recently quit the acappella group that was my only after-work activity. I wanted to perform my original music, but I had nowhere to play and no one to play with.

And, right on my birthday, Elise and I had a hideous fight, a rare thing for us.

I love a crisis, because it represents both danger and opportunity, so I made my quarter-life as a challenge. In a year where most twenty-somethings freaked out about lacking direction I would turn my meandering life into a pure vector, improving every aspect.

The whole endeavor sounded ridiculous last September when I conceived of it – how could I better every aspect of my life without some cataclysmic change, like winning the lottery or developing telekinesis?

As it turns out, if you want to truly alter your life you have to treat it like a weather pattern – starting with the proverbial flutter of butterfly wings and winding up on the other side of a hurricane of change.

It yielded some results I couldn’t have possibly anticipated, many of which I already touched on for CK’s birthday a month ago. I performed live in almost every month of the year. I rebooted my blog, creating something I adore more than ever. I’ve saved more money than I have in my entire life previous, but I still found a way to afford voice lessons. I’m eating healthier than I ever have before, but it’s not just a tacit attempt to jump start my anorexia. And, as evidenced by my yet-to-be-recounted Thursday night as a rock star, Gina and I are finally a band.

The list goes on and on, but it ends with the most important item: I’m happy right where I am.

Last night at dinner my mother asked me if I felt any older, and I think I surprised her by saying yes.

I feel older in the best possible way.

How to write this post and not get fired? It’ll be tricky.

You all know by now I work in communications for a major Philadelphia company, and I love it. I get paid to do things I would probably be doing at home by myself anyway, as frightening as that concept is.

What you might not know (because I haven’t mentioned it in about seven years) is that I had a childhood obsession with the Price Is Right. I loved the One Bid, I loved the Showcase Showdown.

But, I loved nothing more than I loved Plinko.

I was obsessed with the way the penny slid into the board and plunked back and forth and to and fro down the pegs before it finally wound up in a prize slot.

You might not understand how those two facts are connected to each other. Here’s a hint:

Right now, somewhere in Philadelphia, there is a fully functional Plinko board.

I can’t tell you why there is a Plinko board, or where the Plinko board is, because it’s … well, it might be a trade secret? Like, if I were to reveal the purpose and location of the Plinko board, the reason behind my termination would be “dissemination of trade secrets on the internet.” I think.

What I can reveal is that within the last month my co-workers’ “duties as assigned” meant they had to acquire said Plinko board, and that when I walked one of said co-workers to the parking lot today I came within one hot second of climbing onto the roof of her mini-van like a fucking ninja and riding that sucker through rush hour to the location of the Plinko board.

I have been promised photos, and possibly even a video demo, of the Plinko board in action. Yet, pester, plead, and outright beg as I might I could not obtain permission to play, touch, or even view the Plinko board at its secret location. And, after tomorrow, it will be gone, whisked away by the cruel whims of fate (and/or the decrepit liver-spotted claws of nigh unknown game show dieties).

However, though I may be barred from visiting the Plinko mecca, or enlisting you to help me gain entry to it by some nefarious means, I have taken away one important thing from this experience:

I now know that there is a life-sized, fully-functional Plinko board that can be delivered to the Philadelphia metro area.

And, I’m pretty sure I have a high enough credit limit to rent it for the weekend…