The friends and I watched Scrubs tonight over a plate of barbecue, part of a mini-celebration of my impending 36th birthday, which happens Saturday.

Typically, I don't make celebrating a birthday a big deal, but I have chosen to this year. Actually, though, this year is more about Aug. 29 than Aug. 26.

OK, odd segue. I admit it. I'll explain.

My dad was married three times, four if you count an annulment of some sort back in the 1940s. Although my mom won't like to read this, I always figured Dad's first nuptials was soaked in a blissful vat of some well-aged Scotch and a pack of Lucky's.

Being a jazz musician, he was kind of a walking, talking monument to the Rat Pack era. Unlike me, he was tall, skinny and really good looking. I'm shorter, stockier but still stunning, if I can say so myself.

Nevertheless, on March 14, 1964, Dad married the woman who would spring me to life. That was exactly 36 years and three days after he was born.

In the behind-the-scenes conversations we'd have, and there were many, Dad always said he was never really worth a shit until he married Mom. No direction. No discipline. He literally said he was a "worthless son-of-a" you-know what.

Now, I know that's not the case; however, I've always identified with that sentiment in myself. And, during tonight's episode of Scrubs, Elliott laid some harsh truth on a morbidly obese patient, commenting afterward that he brought his problems on himself, referring to the health issues he was having because of his weight.

My friend J basically said that wasn't cool, and I agree wholeheartedly.

It's up to each of us to look inward and decide what we're going to do with our God-given talents, whatever they might be. My talents are many in terms of music and writing and perhaps other things I'm not even aware of (feel free to leave comments detailing those talents ;-)).

Yet, when Dad reached his 13,143rd day of existence that pre-spring day, just months after President Kennedy was assassinated, the vision for his life turned by 180 degrees. He became, as I noted in a previous blog post relative to myself, "comfortable in his own skin."

It's not about accomplishments. It's about vision and maximizing that vision through accomplishment. The accomplishments need not be achieved so long as the individual constantly -- and with discipline -- works toward a lofty vision.

For me, that includes leaving a mark through my work, through my music and with the people I love. That means I face the challenge of maximizing my achievements while ensuring that relationships with people not only endure but strengthen.

What that really means is that everything -- every little task, every waking hour, every choice -- needs to fall in line with that vision else it be tossed aside. Over the next year, the very same year in which my dad pulled it all together, that means I need to work to construct this vision, piece by piece, bit by bit.

To that end and without them even knowing, my friends got me the absolute perfect gift tonight, particularly metaphorically.

They got me tools, and if you've ever had a moment when your hopes, dreams and plans all come together to form something that is coherent (albeit mystical in terms of how it falls into place), well, then that was it.

Truth is, T & J should probably be fearful that I don't hurt myself with the gifts they gave me. Like T told me last week, I'm dangerous with power tools.

True indeed; however, this is the year I become a f***in' Jedi master. The challenge is to make sure, to ensure I don't abandon relationships for achievement. It all goes back to the adage, "Work hard, play hard."

No time to waste.