If you’re like me and have a birthday near the holiday season, your birthday may seem like an ordinary day to pass the time away as you wait for New Years.

Some of you may relish receiving double the gifts as your peers and family members, while others may feel snubbed as their gifts and plans focus around the holiday season rather than the birthday itself.

Here are 10 plans to make your day a special day:

1. Go to Las Vegas. Everyone likes a getaway, especially around the time of your birthday. Take this time to invite some close friends and go wild, “Hangover” style.

2. Throw a party. Who doesn’t like a good old-fashioned party for themselves? This is a good idea for those of you who have a little extra money to spend, and friends to fill the guest list.

3. Grab a steak dinner. Ah steak. There’s nothing like a nice, filling steak to make me feel special on my birthday. For those of you who are vegetarians, feast out on your favorite non-meat dish.

4. Cruise Fourth Avenue. “The strip” is a great spot for you and some friends to venture. Tell every bartender it’s your birthday. Free drinks are inevitable and the bar scene loves someone who chooses their bar for your birthday.

5.  Have a dinner date. Dinner dates are extra memorable for those sharing their day with a special someone. Put on that birthday dress or suit to impress, and go out to a fancy restaurant to have a classy evening.

6. Go camping. For you outdoorsy types, make your day invigorating by strapping on the camping gear and adventuring the great outdoors to a precious spot underneath the stars.

7.  Have a favorite movie marathon. This is more for the couch potatoes out there. A day dedicated to a movie marathon can make a memorable birthday.

8. Have a barbecue. Barbecues are great for those who enjoy food, family, friends and fun. Pig out with your favorite grilled food while enjoying the focus of your birthday.

9. Go on a hike. Hiking can be fun, especially if the hike is dedicated to you and is on your favorite trail.

10. Have a family dinner. There’s nothing like some much-needed family time, especially around the holidays.

As I write this, I realize that one of the following may have occurred by the time the newspaper hits newsstands:

1.) Occupy Wall Street and its brethren will have made an indelible impact on society and everyone will have returned to their homes as heroes of a new generation;

2.) Occupiers will still be camped, hoping their choice to take up residence in parks for a few weeks can still make a difference;

3.) Everyone will have left the parks disenchanted, except for the homeless people who were being mistaken for sage veterans of the protesting world.

The entire “Occupy” movement has fascinated me since I first heard about it in early September.

A grass-roots movement made up mostly of unhappy 20-somethings, aching to vent their rage at any and all perceived enemies? I was all in, if only to laugh as it dissolved two days in because people missed being able to charge their Macbooks.

I was shocked to learn it survived its first week, especially considering that not one single ideology had been agreed upon other than “blame the rich.” (In these times, that isn’t exactly a bad political stance to take.)

Numbers grew, people fell in love with the idea of camping less than a mile from home and the idea spread beyond the northeast. Tucson’s occupation began on Oct. 15 in Armory Park, in solidarity with Occupy Phoenix and, globally, Occupy Everywhere.

By choosing Armory, Tucson-based protests have allowed the media’s light to focus on a wonderfully pleasant park (during the day) that happens to be less than 50 yards from my back gate.

And I hate that.

Not because I dislike hipster kids latching onto any movement that allows them to feel important, or because I’d like to walk around my neighborhood at night without worrying about getting cited.

It’s not even because they take all of the valuable street parking that I need after the five available spots at my complex get snapped up.

It’s because Occupy Tucson, in being good neighbors, screwed itself.

The Tucson Meet Yourself festival also happened to fall on the weekend of Oct. 15. It sprawled over a good portion of the downtown area, attracting thousands to the city center to bask in the glory of good art and great food.

Occupy Tucson moved its setting from Pancho Villa Park, directly in the center of the festival’s madness, to Armory Park, presumably so organizers of TMY wouldn’t withhold valuable fry bread from occupying protesters.

Though they may have been criticized for taking advantage of a beloved public festival, there’s nothing like adding the eyes of a few thousand passersby to your cause. That’s particularly true if the Internet isn’t another appendage to the visitors, like it is for most of this generation.

I support the general message. I support the right to peacefully assemble as citizens of a free democracy, even in affront to law in an effort to do so.

I even support the fact that not everyone seems to know that solidarity is everyone’s best shot for success. It’s funny to see the five people of feminist-led splinter group Occupy Tucson for Everyone at the corner of University and Park.

But it’s hard for me to support a populist-based movement seeking change when they’re so unfailingly polite. They’re willing to point the starting pistol at themselves just as the race is about to start.

I’m tired. Sick and tired.

I’m tired of hearing it, seeing it, reading it. I’m just plain done with it.

This national obsession with rude, insulting, angry language has to stop.

I realize that makes me sound old-fashioned. In reality, I realize that society evolves, pushes boundaries and displaces previously-held social norms.

I grew up watching George Carlin specials when my parents weren’t paying attention. I’m familiar with the concept of pushing social norms.

Unfortunately, I’m also familiar with the way people treat one another these days.

I’ve complained before about children who scream racial and sexist epithets during online gaming sessions. I’ve dealt with the issue time in and time out because, unfortunately, Penny Arcade’s “Greater Internet F–kwad Theory” holds true.

GIFT states that a normal person, when granted anonymity and an audience, becomes a complete jackass.

I’m not sure where this particular behavior began. It’s probably as old as time.

But society has made angry speech our most common form of communication. It’s in our books, our movies, our games, our television.

I can’t say that I’ve not taken part in the phenomenon myself, of course. I’m liable to yell at people who violate “my” space in traffic, or troll people on the Internet myself.

But my car windows are rolled up, containing the rage to my own space.

On the Internet, I level my snark-filled comments at those who have been uncouth.

That’s not a great defense, but it’s the only thing I can think of to justify my well-formulated and well-thought-out insults. In any case, my insults inevitably get ignored or cause me to be called a “liberal idiot suckling at Obummer’s teat.”

What concerns me most is that children will grow up in this society, forged and tempered by angry speech. (The fact that sarcasm is often listed as a second language on Facebook profiles makes my head spin.)

When in doubt, one should turn to one of America’s greatest writers, Kurt Vonnegut. He’s been a source for many of my favorite quotations, including one I tend to repeat to myself during times of despair.

That quote comes from “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater,” in a speech planned for the twins of the main character’s neighbors. He’s welcoming the children to the world and sharing advice with them:

“There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

In these times of economic turmoil, attempts at social uprising and plain old jerkishness, that’s one rule we all need to live by.

I’ve found that the worst thing (so far) about getting old isn’t aging. Apparently, so long as I keep my face cleanly shaved, I’ll get carded anywhere I go.

What’s awful about aging is knowing that some of the smaller skills I developed growing up are now completely useless.

A few weeks ago, I happened to stumble upon a website called “obsoleteskills.com,” though not with the help of StumbleUpon.

It’s a fascinating site, particularly for those who have too much time on their hands and are putting off something important.

You’ll find a listing of more than 300 skills that will likely only become important again if the western world is sent back into the technological dark ages. (Note: That skill number is approximate — I stopped counting as a lingering feeling of “old” started creeping in on me.)

A number of these skills are related to technological developments better suited to the 1800s than modern living.

I understand why “churning butter” and “harnessing a team of oxen” are on the list, but those probably don’t need to be explained unless you’re heading to rural Pennsylvania for a few weeks.

I’m more concerned with the things that I can actually remember doing. Like rewinding video cassettes before returning them to a store or having to clean out the trackball of a mouse so it worked better.

I can remember having to tear apart pages from a dot-matrix printer and adjusting the rabbit ear antennae for a TV. I remember memorizing and singing the tone our dial-up Internet made, and blowing on video game cartridges so I could play Super Mario Kart.

Of course, some of the listings are tongue-in-cheek or purely gripes about society: Entries for “manners” and “general conversation” come to mind, as do those for “handwriting” and “paying with cash.”

And some are just jokes, such as “operating an HD-DVD player.” The “caulking your wagon to ford the river” entry is on the list because every Web page referencing old technology apparently must legally reference the Oregon Trail game somewhere on it.

I did have to laugh at the “porn not from the Internet” entry though, as I guess even perverts get nostalgic.

It’s weird though: things I still regularly do are becoming obsolete. Commonplace things, like using a watch, driving a manual transmission or sending a typewritten letter through the mail. (OK, so that last one isn’t commonplace but my Internet has been spotty lately.)

I guess it comes down to the fact that it’s weird getting old. I mean, there are people I hang out with now who couldn’t have watched Jurassic Park when it was in theaters. They have no idea what I’m talking about when I mention “Rita Repulsa” in conversation.

But weirder still is realizing that things that seem untouchable now will be as extinct as dinosaurs within a few years: personal desktop computers, video game systems with physical controllers, even (hopefully) certain diseases.

At least I can take solace in the fact that physical media like books and CDs will never go out of style, right?

Or is it already time again for me to roll around, clutching my magazines and newspaper clippings, pretending that I’ll still be relevant in 20 years?

aztecpress@pima.edu

The Libertarian-leaning, Republican crackpot Ron Paul is finally getting legitimate press as a presidential candidate, and I couldn’t be any happier about it.

 For the uninitiated, I’ll sum up the 76-year-old U.S. representative from Texas in one sentence: Ron Paul loves the United States Constitution.

If it were a woman, he’d take it out for a candlelight dinner, hold its hand as they walked through the park at sunset and kiss it goodnight on the cheek before sending it flowers the next day.

He has the kind of love that’s obvious in his actions. He votes against bills infringing upon personal rights, such as the USA PATRIOT Act.

He’s one of the few Republicans who has campaigned against our wars on the grounds that they’re unconstitutional, not to mention financially unsound.

Sure, he’s got his crazy points.

He wants to do away with the Civil Rights Act of 1964, naive enough to think that the free market will punish racists financially.

He wants to repeal Roe v. Wade, believing abortion rights are not the business of the federal government. He wants to end the federal prohibition of pot, too, which I suspect just won him a few votes from the stoners reading this.

Surprisingly, he came in second in the Iowa Straw Poll, just behind Minnesota’s Michelle Bachmann. But until the Daily Show raised a fuss about his treatment in the media, he was being ignored like it was ‘08 all over again.

Now, Ron Paul is gaining actual momentum. Honestly, I think it’s because he’s less insane than his opponents.

Bachmann, for instance, believes that gay people can pray themselves straight and that Intelligent Design is a legitimate theory that should be taught in schools.

Rick Perry is the second coming of George W. Bush. In his favor, he did consider instituting a tax on strip clubs in Texas, which is so funny that I can’t even joke about it.

Jon Huntsman is crazy enough to think that he has a shot at winning the GOP nomination by being a moderate during a time when most Republican voters are wearing tri-corner hats and yelling at pictures of President Obama until their mouths foam over.

Realistically, Paul won’t win the nomination. He’s too principled, for one thing. He’s also too old. (He’d be 81 by the end of his first term, should he actually win the election.)

But really, Ron Paul just isn’t polarizing enough to be as loved or hated as his opponents. It’s a shame, too.

I was looking forward to seeing him hand-in-hand with the Constitution down by the Lincoln Memorial at sunset.

aztecpress@pima.edu

1. Thank you for making me that sandwich.

2.  Can you bring me a beer… please?

3.  You look very pretty in that apron.

4.  Have you seen my chewing tobacco?

5. Why are you staring at me that way?

6. I’m glad you’re letting the guys come over tonight.

7. Are the wings in the freezer?

8. You smell nice.

9. You look good today.

10. I love you, but the game is on.

aztecpress@pima.edu

It’s summer, and the end of the school year is all but upon us.

It’s a time to look forward – to longer hours at work, to new classes and to shorter vacations than you’d like.

Personally, I like to take this time to look back at my body of work. For the benefit of my critics, I’m going to do so publicly.

Come on! Let’s look back at my failings as a writer and a human in less than 350 words.

Take my “Bejeweled” column, published March 24. “There’s always a gem blinking somewhere, Pima. Whenever you’re stuck, in games or in life, there’s always a solution.”

One reader’s reaction? “Oatmeal.”

Dull as dried paint and bland as British food. Looking back, this is like watching a football player in a batting cage: It’s only just entertaining and for the wrong reasons. This is why you won’t see me doing uplifting self-help anytime soon.

Speaking of self-help, how about my “Talk to us, Pima!” column? “You see, although I can hear your praise and applause from all around the Tucson area (it sounds remarkably similar to excited crickets), I’m missing your insightful comments – your ideas, your comebacks, your insults.”

I couldn’t have sounded any more like a shill if I had tried to throw in a free massage for every five comments we got on our stories… which we can’t afford on our budget.

My Jan. 27 “Zombies” column takes the cake, though. “All I know is that if the zombie apocalypse is near, I’m heading to the concrete fortress that is West Campus.” If this column were a scarecrow, the Wizard of Oz would’ve denied its request for brains because it wouldn’t put them to good use.

In retrospect: I’m funny. You know it, I know it and the one dude who added me on Facebook because he recognized me from my column knows it.

But sometimes I’m off my game. When that happens, let me know. I’d like to be held to a higher standard than most Arizona politicians.

aztecpress@pima.edu

Hey, remember Myspace?

You may be asking, “Who cares about Myspace anymore? I certainly don’t.”

You’re not alone, people who talk to yourselves in the cafeteria. I can’t remember the last time I logged in.

After all, I’m not a porn star or a rapper desperate for attention. I’m also not one of the people I went to high school with who started popping out kids after graduation.

Between the shrinking user base and ever-declining ad revenue, Myspace owner News Corporation has decided to put the sinking ship up for sale. It’s actually been rebranded as “My_____.”

So who’s willing to purchase this wreck?

According to the Wall Street Journal, a few huge investment firms have started serious discussions. But why let little things like “facts” get in the way of baseless conjecture?

Facebook seems like a potential buyer. The idea of a dominant company merging with a weaker one in its field isn’t new.

It won’t work, though. Facebook programmers would have strokes just looking at pages the average Myspacer creates, thanks to the obsession some women have with animated Tinkerbell pictures.

Then there’s Yahoo, the only place I know to actually find chat rooms these days. Combining the two to create a social beast makes sense.

However, combining the two would create a porn advertising singularity that makes the entire Internet smell like shame and KY jelly.

We’ll end with Vevo, the record industry’s effort to stay relevant in the digital age.

With its presence on YouTube, Vevo has actually been somewhat successful, even if it’s getting blown out of the water by flash-in-the-pan darlings like Rebecca Black.

This merger actually makes sense. “My_____” decided to become a place for music about the same time it dropped the “space,” so becoming a tool of the record industry would suit it fine.

It would suit the recording industry just fine, too. No industry does more to support dead technology than one that thinks overcharging for CDs is a good idea in 2011.

aztecpress@pima.edu

Apparently, nostalgia is in vogue — again.

This summer, MTV is bringing back Beavis and Butthead, dragging the poorly drawn teenagers back from the graveyard of cancelled cartoons.

MTV’s Viacom sibling Nickelodeon, for its part, will re-air its grunge-era classics this fall in a late-night block known as “The ‘90s is All That.”

I have no desire to watch any of these shows again. If I wanted to watch “All That” alum Kenan Thompson awkwardly mug and shout his way through sketch comedy, I’d turn on “Saturday Night Live.”

I loved these shows, truly. But lately, I’ve spent quality time watching classic Nickelodeon cartoons, as well as choice Looney Tunes.

The newer shows lack substance. The characters are obnoxious, with plots focusing more on misunderstanding and awkwardness than wit.

The Looney Tunes cartoons were designed for adults under Hollywood’s moralistic Hays Code censorship. Any sort of sexuality was downplayed into non-existence. Blasphemy and vulgarity were out.

In short: Anything that was actually funny had to be clever.

It’s like comparing “Modern Family” to “Two and a Half Men,” if the latter had more goofy voices and less to do with counting down to Charlie Sheen’s astronomically popular public breakdown.

Which brings us back to Nickelodeon, Viacom and ‘90s classics.

In 2003, “Ren and Stimpy Adult Cartoon Party” aired on a late-night block on another Viacom network, Spike TV. See a trend?

It was an effort to cash in on the grown-up viewers of the show’s early ‘90s heyday, revolving around gross-out humor, sexual themes and stoner-humor absurdity.

It lasted a month and a half before cancellation.

Nostalgia is a fun diversion, a reflection of youth and times gone by. Generally, it disappears as quickly as one’s desire to watch a “Rugrats” DVD sober in your early 20s after one episode.

But like all diversions, it’s ultimately a waste of time.

I’ll tune in, probably once, to see if Danny Tamberelli is still as funny as I thought he was when I was 10 years old. Beyond that, I’m out.

My time will be too wrapped up in figuring out what current cartoon trend is next to be revived in an adult animation block. My money is on “The Penguins of Madagascar.”

aztecpress@pima.edu

I came to a realization this week: Life is like Bejeweled.

Let’s back up a bit. I’ve always considered myself to be a gamer. That kind of comes with the territory of having a Super Nintendo before being in kindergarten.

Since then, I’ve spent a fair amount of time with hunks of molded plastic in my hands, pretending to be someone I’m not: a space marine, a chubby plumber, a 10-year-old catching magical animals for what amounts to legalized dogfighting.

A lot of people who hear “gamer” think “lazy.” That’s where Bejeweled comes in.

If you haven’t heard of it, Bejeweled Blitz is a simple puzzle game, found on Facebook. Users have one minute to match different colored gems into rows of three or more, trying to get a high score and beat friends who are also wasting time on the game.

Simple. And addictive.

I found myself playing it the other night, avoiding an assignment I was stuck on. Problem was, I was stuck in Bejeweled too, unable to get a match. I knew there was one there — the game’s programmed to have it. I just couldn’t find it.

Then the idea hit me for my assignment. The solution was always there, tucked in the back of my mind. I just needed to completely avoid it for hours, playing a mindless video game to find it.

Bejeweled has a number of aids to help you when you’re lost. Notably, a gem will blink, indicating the nearest match.

There’s always a gem blinking somewhere, Pima. Whenever you’re stuck, in games or in life, there’s always a solution. You just have to be paying attention to see it. If you can’t find it, look up the problem on YouTube.

Keep in mind, that part doesn’t work well for real life. Dramatic Chipmunk won’t help you figure out what your next life decision will be.

Bejeweled just might though.