Stephen Yeargin

Thanks everybody for the birthday wishes, e-mails, cards and such. I have generally learned that just because you stop “celebrating” birthdays does not mean you stop having them. Still, it is nice to hear from people on such occasions. I typically do not return the same favor on birthdays, although I am getting better about it. It is all part of this whole “defining your post-college relationships” train of thought I have been on lately.

Samantha and I headed out to dinner last night after dropping off our recently-repaired Wii at the apartment. The console’s disc mechanism was making an awful noise as soon as you put a game in, so we exercised our warranty provisions. Playing the latest edition of Madden for the Wii (my birthday gift from Samantha) is surprisingly fun and not nearly as complicated as I had expected. As we do have downstairs neighbors, however, I try to keep the end zone dancing to a minimum.

Speaking of exercise, we are again trying to come up with a workout schedule. At this ripe age of 24, I weigh five pounds to either side of 200, depending on which combo meal I had last. I feel fine and can still take stairs three at a time if the spirit moves me, but one of the most recurring pieces of advice I receive from guys is to watch out these next few years or else a doctor will be giving you all kinds of hell about your health when 30 hits.

In slightly unfair to the rest of you news, my first dentist appointment since the turn of the century actually did not net any cavities or other pressing concerns. I am either blessed with surprisingly resilient teeth and gums, or my dentist did not have the heart to tell me the truth. Either way, I suppose I need to space those out ever six months instead of six years.

One more Bush administration resignation and I can yell “Bingo!”