Saturday Is My Birthday

I was born on March 2nd, 1957. That will be 56 years ago come Saturday. I weighed 7 pounds. Today, I weigh 190. If you had bought a thousand shares of me back then...

When I was born, there were 48 states. Now there are 50. Can any Gen-X’er say he’s done as much for his country? I think not. 

Before I was born, the Boston Celtics had never won an NBA Championship. One month after my appearance on earth, they won their first. Since then, they’ve won another 16. You’d think, considering the way my birth realigned the stars in their favor, they might have sent me a refrigerator magnet or something. What the heck. Every time they win, it annoys Spike Lee. I suppose that’s good enough.

There were only 4 television stations in Boston on the date of my birth, and no cable. Now there’s cable, satellite, Tivo, On-Demand, and all sorts of other groovy ways to get your programming. If you buy them all, there are thousands of channels from which to choose. That’s good news, I suppose, but there are still only 4 things worth watching at any given time – if that - and you need to spend fifteen minutes searching for any of them. By the time you find one, half the program is over and you don’t have the slightest clue why Dwight Schrute isn’t wearing pants.

When I first came into this world, the following things were healthy: milk, eggs, butter, cheese, and red meat. Now they all kill you. Other once-friendly-to-children foods, such as peanut butter, have become increasingly homicidal. Any day now, I expect we’ll find out that the only healthy foods are library paste, bugs, and brown paper bags. That weird kid who sat next to you in kindergarten will live to be 140.

When I was a child, the only people walking down the street alone, talking, were insane. They still are, but now they hold small rectangular devices to their ears while they do so, and some of them drive.

The first presidential election I was alive for, we elected Kennedy. From there, things have gotten out of hand. You can’t blame me for that. My record is spotless. I’ve voted in 10 presidential elections and my choice in every one of them hasn’t even finished as high as second.

Music has been decent during my lifetime, but if I knew then what I know now, I’d have preferred that Mick Jagger stop writing songs in 1980. If I have to hear Start Me Up even one more time before the kickoff at a football game, I’d just as soon spend my Sundays whacking myself in the head with a hammer.

Let’s finish with a familiar poem.

Monday’s child is fair of face
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
Wednesday’s child is full of woe
Thursday’s child has far to go
Friday’s child is loving and giving
Saturday’s child has to work for its living
But a child that’s born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good and gay

That last line doesn’t mean the same thing now as when it was written, but neither do things like ‘budget deficit’ and ‘peace’, so why quibble? Anyway, I was born on a Saturday, so it says I have to work for a living. I’m not getting paid for this, so apparently that's true. Monday’s child is fair of face. That would be MY WIFE. You might have assumed she was Wednesday’s child, but you would have been wrong.

All in all, I’d say my presence on this planet has resulted in more good than bad, so why not toss me a sawbuck? If enough of you do so, I’ll quit pestering editors from around the country concerning publishing my drivel and we can all go home early.

Soon? With more better stuff?