You say it's your birthday? It's my birthday too

"Hey, better luck next year right?"

"That really sucks, you gonna write your column about how that really sucks? Man, that really sucks."

(And my personal favorite:) "You poor slob, I heap mounds of pity on your tortured and ravaged soul."

What's my problem? (That's rhetorical.) No, I don't have anything terminal and I don't need anything surgically removed. I am pretty much over my failed bid to be Miss America 1997 (but thanks for your support anyway). And finally, no, I am not related to Ron Powlus, although anyone with even a little compassion has to be worried about the horrible pain that poor boy is going to be in tomorrow.

Paul Serilla Serilla Warfare

The reason everyone is sending their regrets is today is my 20th birthday and apparently, this is supposed to be one of the most frustrating days of my college career. I was not aware of this fact until I casually mentioned to a friend of mine that my birthday was at the end of this week.

"Oh, it's your 20th birthday, bummer man. You know what the immortal Bard said, right?"

"On this subject I have no idea. Enlighten me, you literary genius, you."

"He said, 'those who have seen 20 winters pass rejoice when the bright rays of spring's first dawn rekindle the fire of their soul, but similarly lament a belly that tastes no flame. Yon pub is so close, yet also, like really far.'"

"Shakespeare wrote that? Even Hallmark wouldn't print that crap."

"Shakespeare? What are you talking about man? The Bard said that, you know Bard, big guy, works the door at Touchies. That's what he tells people when he snags their fake."

My dear friend's eloquent reminder aside, I still don't feel disappointed. I suppose most people's overall disdain for 20th birthdays stems from its lack of one of the little bonuses that the latter teen years are so riddled with.

I was never really big on all those little landmarks of impending adulthood. Sure, at 16 I was a little hyped about sliding behind the wheel of Mom's Pontiac (they build excitement, you realize), but that whole honeymoon ended several weeks later when I got my first glance at the license photo I have been stuck with ever since. You have no idea how embarrassing it is when a cop pulls you over and says, "Listen, bucko, neither you nor the 11-year-old in this photo should be driving 50 in a 30."

Then at 18, I got the right to vote; wait, stop the tumultuous agitation (don't be so excited either). I realize it is my duty as a citizen in this democracy to vote, but it can be pretty frustrating. Last year, for instance, I got stuck voting for a Republican - I doubt Clinton even appreciated it. Also at 18, I got the right to be cataloged by the Pentagon, yeehaw. Despite what anybody tells you, the service is not all that selective; as far as I can tell, they'll harass just about anything in a skirt (Scottish men and Eddie Murphy beware). At least I can be glad that there isn't a draft anymore - really, I am completely satisfied with just being most of what I can be.

Then 19, which every American living near the longest unarmed border in the world knows is a big frickin' deal, probably only No. 2 to the blackjack itself. With NAFTA, the situation has only escalated: Last year the Canadians' biggest export was drunken American college students returning over the Ambassador Bridge - score one for free trade. Two things to remember for all you East Coast freshmen who will be soon making your first pilgrimage to the great white north: Over there Old Mil is an import and if the border guard asks you if you have anything to declare, don't say, "Just a trunk full of duty-free vodka and a backseat full of illegal aliens."

Now 20, so what? There is no new card to put in my wallet, no new responsibility that comes stapled to my age. It does seem kind of boring. Maybe people dislike the big 2-0 because it seems so stable. Most 20-year-olds are in the middle of college, - factor in grad school possibilities and we are just beginning.

After two years of college life, it's pretty evident that things are staying this way for a while. The whirlwind of change that seemed so endless when we flew the nest has died down to a routine breeze. So what's the epiphany forced out of two decades of reflection? I am a little bit bored, but a little scared of what lies beyond this safety net, nothing really is new.

It doesn't matter, I am resolved to enjoy 20 - after all, next year is the last thing I get from the government until I am 65 (don't believe the hype, Social Security is as solid as an S&L). Oh, by the way, to all my friends, could you at least write "happy birthday" on the condolence card?

- Paul Serilla can be reached over e-mail at pserilla@umich.edu

09-26-97