My Dearest Avocomrades,

I am writing this message to you on May 2, 2018, at 2:49 in the afternoon, on a beautiful breezy day near San Francisco, sitting in meditative solitude beside a picturesque little creek bordered with ivy and bay trees and banks of powdery brown-gray dirt. Above the gentle whispers of the creek and the wind in the trees I can hear a mourning dove, and a distant quacking duck, and the sweet piping of chickadees, and the bluejay’s squawk that goes off like an alarm.

If this letter has reached you successfully by the morning of May 20th, 2018, I am glad. Hopefully I’m still sleeping through the morning after the previous night’s Weird Al concert and hopefully by this time I’ve figured out a way to get home from Oakland that doesn’t involve a really expensive Lyft ride. It will probably involve a lot of transfers between BART stations at ungodly hours of the morning. Doesn’t that sound like fun. I hope in the three weeks between writing this and posting this, the robot uprising has been quashed, the cure for cancer has been found, and we’ve found good homes for all the senior pets on the planet. I hope there’s a real trailer for Prabhas’s new movie Saaho. I hope Kim Jong Un has been ousted in a bloodless coup entirely by his own people. I hope Taco Bell brought back their taquitos. I know it’s a lot to ask.

I hope I have a hangover. I hope I sleep in until 2. I hope I wake up and eat pancakes and bacon with the love of my life and my best friend. And then I hope I get to see Deadpool 2. I’ve probably already seen this movie twice by the time I get to today. I hope nobody sings to me. I hope I don’t get any presents. All I want today is pancakes and good memories.

Because…

IT’S MY BIRTHDAAAAAAY

I hope you all have a great Sunday, my guacamigos. And if it also happens to be your birthday, happy birthday to you.