February 10th is usually an uneventful day. But I'm always aware of it when it comes. I've written about it here in past years. Just some juvenile mnemonic, but "2/10" sticks.

Three-Oh is coming up soon. Or "XXX", which can mean things other than Roman numerals. Yep, I'm in the last weeks of my 20s. I don't have a fear of turning 30. In fact, I look forward to leaving a lot more of that bullshit that's either marketed or appears around people in their 20s.

But the main event is, of course, the birthday. And as anybody who's read The Satanic Bible goes, a Satanist's birthday is the #1 religous holiday. Of course, people of any religion always place big emphasis on big round numbers ending in "0". So after careful decisions that included thoughts of going to England or Peurto Rico, I've finally decided to go to Las Vegas. Aside from connection flights, I've only been there once before. But damn, what a hell of a time. Sin City, here I come!

My parents kept asking me what I wanted, so I told them that a digitcal camera would be great. After some searching, they really didn't know how to pick one out for me. Which is perfectly understandable; I had a hard enough time myself the last time I went looking! I had no objections to their offer of wiring me the cash and letting me decide. So I searched hard to find exactly what I could get at a ridiculously lowered price ("Best Buy" isn't always the best when you consider the internet, folks). And I got a slim 7.2 MP Sony. I look forward to taking shots of Vegas.

So a few hours ago, I'm listening to Yma Sumac on my iPod. Is she still performing? I'd fly anywhere to see her or Martin Denny, two of the pioneers of that all but lost beautiful musical genre of the 1950s, Exotica. Lo and behold, she has a fan site. And a fan club! AND she's signing autographs in California!! Hmm, could I book yet another airline trip just for this? Crazy, but I'll actually think about it.

I've been telling myself this for a long time, and I hate to "should" myself, but...I really, really, really need to get off my ass and write letters to Yma Sumac, Martin Denny, and Tom Leher. Hell, Tom Lehrer lives 15 minutes from me. But the harsh truth is that these icons are not going to be alive for that many years to come. They're quite up there in age. I don't even know if Martin Denny's alive, for that matter, but it's still worth the chance. Just a short letter to each of them to let them know how much their works have touched me. I don't even want to think of a day when I hear about their deaths and know that I never made the effort to say anything.