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Friday, February 21, 2003
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My Last Week in My Twenties
I turn 30 in exactly one week, next Friday, Feb. 28. The only apprehension I have is that, when it's done, I'm going to have to wait another 10 years for a party this much fun. (If you haven't heard, a group of around 25-30 of us will be at Coyote Ugly around 11 p.m. If you know me, you're invited. If you don't know me, you're invited. It's nothing formal, just laughs and booze.)
Anyone who's read anything more than a crossword puzzle knows life gets better as you get older. If you're not accumulating friends, wisdom, stories, knowledge and dirty jokes every single day, then you're wasting it. Life-changing events happen every day to people of every age — both jubilant and tragic. All you can do is to try to equip yourself to make the best decisions possible — and the strength to live with them. Everything after that is luck. I've been blessed with as much luck as anyone. If my luck changes, I still feel I've equipped myself as best I can.
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Here's a little photo recap of my twenties, although I wasn't able to pull anything from ages 24 or 25. Faces have been blurred just to protect those who may not want their images online.
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 20 Years Old, South Padre Island (Texas), 1993 — Me with my Syracuse University suitemate John at Carlos 'n' Charlie's on Spring Break. Texas was the first state I visited outside of New York, New Jersey, Virginia and Florida. I'd never met friendlier, slower or dumber people in my life to that point. It would since be surpassed by Louisiana, where people also confided in me their dislike for blacks.
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 21 Years Old, Key West (Fla.), 1994 — Me and two Syracuse buddies horde beers before last call at an all-you-can-drink 7-10 p.m. special at Rum Runners on Duval Street during spring break. A huge group of us would drink for free for the next two hours.
Graduated from Syracuse in May and the world hasn't been the same since.
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 22 Years Old, Seaside Heights (N.J.), 1995 — That's me, Casper, in a photo booth on the boardwalk, with an ex-girlfriend's arm around my neck. I took her to the place where I had great childhood memories. I guess guidos did not bother me when I was 12 and winning Yankees posters in those games of chance.
Moved into my first bachelor pad, 511 E. 87 Street, in August. Life was easy and fun didn't end in college.
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 23 Years Old, Pelham (N.Y.), 1996 — Me playing softball in the town in which I grew up. A bunch of my high school friends and I won the league title and had a ton of fun doing it. I'm superstitous when it comes to sports. I tie my left shoe first, like Reggie Jackson, and back then I wore long sleeves, even in 90-degree weather. Now it's long pants.
In October, I took a website-building course that put me on a new career path.
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 26 Years Old, Boston (Mass.), 1999 — Me and a fellow FOXSports.com producer Rob at the MLB All-Star Game in 1999. Our only seats were buried in the media room (named for Johnny Pesky, I think), so we hung out by the FOX Sports Net stage on the right-field roof. I'll never forget the military planes' fly-by that almost knocked me over and sports media members who cheered giddily for Mark McGwire during his monster display in the Home Run Derby.
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 27 Years Old, Cancun (Mexico), 2000 — Me and an ex-girlfriend ditched the Club Med camp for a night on the town. Good move for the yanks. It was a lot more fun, and it was a return engagement for me, who went as a 19-year-old sophomore for spring break.
One of my most successful years in a lot of ways. Upped my salary 55% in one February job move, PK.com was born in the summer, and my fall and winters were magnificent.
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 28 Years Old, New Orleans (La.), 2001 — Me and the wolf from, appropriately enough, the Wicked Wolf on Bourbon Street. I enjoyed it so much, I had to return in 2002. And you bet I'll be there when the Giants visit the Saints in 2003.
On Monday, Sept. 10, 2001 I had a housewarming party, coinciding with the Monday night fooball opener beteen the Giants and Broncos, with people from all periods of my life. I swear to god I rested my head on my new couch and thought that life did not get any better.
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 29 Years Old, New York (N.Y.), 2003 — Me and a coworker on Eighth Avenue in New York, the only city in which I could see myself living. A Columbia student from Toronto recently told me she misses grass. I almost bought her a plane ticket home. That's like going to Hawaii and complaining that the skiing sucks.
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Category:
PK.com News
| Permalink | Post a Comment (8) |
so, years 24 and 25 went missing? :)
i'm going to try to not be insulted by your texas comment, ya'll... :P
i spent many a spring break at that very same carlos and charlie's on south padre, and i think a few of those years went missing from my life as well.
and, bourbon street rocks anytime EXCEPT mardi gras - i highly recommend jazz fest (which just announced this year's schedule...).
Paul, you are indeed a lucky man to have had so many good times. Not that I am whining, but for my 30th, I had back surgery. That sucked, but I fully recovered and am back to my buff, athletic self.
On another note, The French Quarter Festival in the Spring is, IMHO, better than the Jazz fest b/c it is not as crowded, the weather is usually great and the main attractions are at Jackson Square and on Royal Street. Right off of Jackson Square is the Cabildo and the Presbytere wherein you can see original documents from the La. Purchase and one of 3 death masks of Napoleon. This one in particular was found in a garbage heap many many moons ago.
-JC in Houston. You know, the stupid slow one who takes great umbrage in obnoxious yankees calling Texans and Louisianians stupid and slow.
dance on the bar for me I aspire to do that one of these days :)
happy almost birthday and thanks for the life and times of Paul Katcher :-)
Guys don't dance on the bar anywhere in NYC unless they want to wind up in a hospital. Why do people think otherwise? Did they dance on the bar in the dumb Coyote Ugly movie?
The first time I went to Bourbon Street, I thought it was a digital camera convention. I wonder if things are tamer with the advent of the Priceless photo on the Internet. In seven nights (including two weekends) I haven't seen much in public I couldn't see at home. But it's a good place for a fly-by. Just swoop in and out.
All the southerners I know avoid New Orleans during Mardi Gras- one might do Mardi Gras in Nawlins once, when in college. Once is enough.
Much better during Jazzfest. :-)
God, with all those blurred out photos it looks like the photo montage they show on Hard Copy after they catch some serial killer...
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so, years 24 and 25 went missing? :)
Posted by erin at February 21, 2003 8:10 AM