oh brother (a birthday tribute)

Recognize this fella?

It's Blake.

My pseudo-brother and best friend (and official ledge-talker-off-er). He's one-half of my other two-thirds (and he's bad at math, just like me).

Also, today is his birthday.

It should be a national holiday.

Banks should close!

Foreign dignitaries should be contacted!

Fancy soaps and guest towels should be used!

...Or, we can just look at some pretty pictures of him from his modeling days!

Ah. Yes. Good plan.

But fo' real-real (not fo' play -play)...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Love you boyo. Thanks for always being there for me.

And for being so tall. And coming to visit me when everything fell apart. And for helping me drink margaritas off the countertop. And for that big hug when I needed it most last time we were home. And for making raptor sounds. And for singing "Part of Your World" with a Brooklyn accent on the way to Disneyland. And for that time you made me Frankencake. And that time you and I skipped Leslie's class to go to the art supply store (the first time I ever skipped a class in my life!). And for hours spent watching Will & Grace. And for being Peter Pan sometimes so that I can pretend I'm Wendy when neither of us want to grow up. And for not always being prettier than me. And for your love of fancy cheeses. And Meryl Streep. And for making that stupid poetry class we took bearable. And for all those times we went to the pet store between class to play with puppies. And for GETTING a puppy so that I'd have someone to cuddle with while you and Brig spooned that night we camped out in your old apartment. And for wearing plastic bags over your converse in the snow. And for the drives through the canyons listening to "You Don't Own Me" and "Dark Blue". And for singing Abba with me. And for the time we walked miles up the beach and landed at Neptune's Net (or whatever restaurant that was) and you built your own little Andy Goldsworthy stack of rocks. And for that time in Florence when we sat on the steps of Il Duomo and drank prosecco straight from the bottle. In the rain. And for when you and I recorded the audio for that Marie Antoinette bio-pic you animated in a makeshift sound studio made of couch cushions and a blanket. And for sending me said audio tracks (to be used as blackmail should I ever need it). And for giving Toni Braxton a run for her money. And for always believing in love. And for hoping for the possibility that maybe, just maybe, that notion of "happily ever after" isn't so unattainable. And for never letting your creativity sit still for too long. And for your insatiable curiosity. And for your wanderlust. And for your wicked, wicked wit. And for that mischievous smile when you know you've done something that will piss me off but not enough that I won't smile too.

And for just being Wonderboy.

I'll get to work on your birthday poem now.

Let's see... What rhymes with Grey Gardens?