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Today is my birthday.

I'm not afraid of coming birthdays, and I don't intend to stop the count-up. Despite all of its challenges (living with teenagers, IRS tax audit, five year old with pneumonia), through the mud and the stars, life on the whole is pretty good.

So today is MY day, the one day a year that I book solidly to do whatever I want (sans Fiji, of course). And because this is the last year I'll have a five year old in tow, I plan to have some silly fun.

A little more than five years ago a few of us sat down around my dining room table with some legal pads, a laptop computer, and a long list of ideas. Our starting point was an executive summary of an idea for a magazine that I’d written up three years earlier. The magazine had the working title The Village Idiot.

When I was twenty-four, I decided to bake a cake for my boyfriend’s birthday. Matty was a wannabe rock star and the coolest guy I’d ever dated. I really wanted to pull off something cool, something special, something his mother would never have made. The limits of my first apartment kitchen forced my creativity into overdrive. I baked three cakes—chocolate, yellow, and marble—with the only pan I had: a loaf pan. I then inverted these “cake bricks” and stacked them, one on top of the other.