Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes yesterday when I turned the big six-oh. I can't acknowledge all of you individually — I had over a thousand birthday messages on Facebook alone, some of them even from people I've met — but I do appreciate the nice thoughts and even the intermittent remarks about being old and therefore closer to death.
Sixty is no big deal. I was originally due on February 29 and if I'd been born then, yesterday would have been my 15th birthday, which is about how old I feel. I didn't come out as scheduled — I think I was blogging and hosting panels in there — so finally on March 2, the doctors sent in Seal Team 6 to get me out. It turned out to be a good day to be born. I have a couple of friends who were born the same day and they like it, too. If you ever get the chance to come out of the womb again, I highly recommend March 2, especially back in 1952.
(I got an e-mail from accordion-playing journalist Barry Mitchell, whose links and videos we sometimes feature here. He told me he was born on March 6, 1952. I wrote him back and said, "Ah, I remember when I was your age…")
Anyway, thanks for all the messages and I want to thank all but one friend for not giving me a present and not singing "Happy Birthday" at me. You don't really sing "Happy Birthday" to someone. You sing it at them.