Single. Dollar. Bills.

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• May 21, 2025

In the backyard at a long time friend’s house, I crack a beer. It’s a beautiful day. The sun shines on the now blossomed trees. My brother arrives with my nephew, Blaise. Blaise runs up to me with a wad of singles, throws them at me and yells, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU HAMSTER” before giving me a big hug. Other lifelong friends trickle in, with their little clones in tow. When you’re in the city, it’s easy to believe that the American Dream is dead. But many of my friends since elementary school or cousins, found purpose in jobs. Though at the end of the day, a job is for money. More importantly, found purpose in another, and started beautiful families.

The adults monitor the kids, but we’re not on their level of imagination as they frolic and giggle. Again, my four year old nephew runs up to me with a wad of singles, “happy birthday, hamster!” Initially, I thought it was the same stack of singles from before, which I had put aside. But no, it was a new one. So you can imagine my surprise when it happened a third time.

The following day, I’d go to one of my cousin’s houses (who also just had a birthday), where, I’d tell this story of how Mitch gifted me money. The bit reminded me of something my dad would do, but my mom said it actually was something that she thought her dad would do as joke. I laughed at the thought of my brother going to the bank and asking for one hundred singles and the bank teller thinking he’s going to a strip club, making some sort of hint “ah, fun weekend planned?” Then Mitch going, to the bank teller’s horror, “no this is for my son to throw at my sister.” Mitch said, the “hamster” bit was all Blaise. He didn’t tell him to say that, nor does he know where he got it from. Ah, kids.

As I told this to my sister, her daughter, my niece Charlotte, eavesdropped. “Blaise is right,” she said, “you do kind of look like a hamster.”

“What? I look like a hamster!” I grab her and kiss her, “would a hamster do this.”

She giggles, “yes! Yes!”

I don’t think I look like a hamster, but I do kind of live like a hamster. I live in a small space. I sleep a lot. I like to run (outside, not on a wheel). I love to eat. And I look really cute when I’m curled in a ball, snuggled in a blanket about to sleep. In all seriousness, I have thought about how great it would be to have one of those hamster water bottles on the wall when you wake up thirsty to drink before going back to sleep.

Hamsters are also nocturnal creatures and they like to have sex. Because of how much they like to have sex, they are actually banned from my favorite place in the world, Hawaii. Hawaii is super strict about keeping out invasive species, or just not native to their environment. A boom of any animal will affect the eco system. Humans are not excluded from this, but we are not banned.

Turning 36 doesn’t bother me in the sense that I don’t care that I’m older, as I’m healthy. I actually lose respect for people who lie about their age or keep it a secret. Which is especially common in show business. I’ve had many people tell me to lie about my age because I do look younger. But I am not a liar. And I think it’s foolish to lie about something that is fundamentally you, which is how many years you’ve been here. I don’t think anyone should be ashamed of how much time they’ve been alive. Additionally, beyond your early 20s, your age no longer defines anything about you. Once you’ve been an adult long enough, age is just a number. Or as I like to say, “you’re only really as old as your knees feel.”

That all being said, I don’t much care for 36. It’s not, per se, the number that bothers me. It’s that I feel I should have figured out my life more, or been more successful in love and a career. That I should have a semblance of a future plan, which I really don’t. This is also because I chose a bohemian lifestyle and an extremely difficult career. And I, in part, chose this life because a regular nine to five would kill my soul and I couldn’t live like that.

Most people tell me that everyone, at all ages, feel this sense that they are winging it. That they are not successful. That they are flying through nothingness on a loop, much like the Earth is just looping around the sun in space. We are hamsters at the wheel. Going no where. But we’re still here. And if we’re lucky, surrounded by good friends and family. Living for singular moments of laughter, and sweet hugs, like what’s to follow, when single dollar bills rain on you, from the small hand of smiling child who’s just happy you’re in each other’s lives.