On turning 30 (for real this time).


Okay, well, yes. I really don’t see what the big deal is about turning thirty years old. My hair didn’t turn gray or fall out overnight, my bones don’t creak, nothing is any different than yesterday. It’s no big deal.

Besides, on this birthday the entire nation is celebrating with me. I flipped on the tube this morning and there were parades, floats, and smiling people on channel after channel. I picked up the paper, and it turns out that the airports and highways were jammed full of travellers going to be with their families on this momentous occasion. Every school and most businesses in the nation are closed today, and the NFL is playing three games today instead of Sunday.

My family’s getting together in a few hours to eat a turkey with dressing, stuffing and fixins… but so are all of my relatives who couldn’t be with me today! They’re eating the same thingas we are on my birthday! It seems like everyone in the entire country is getting turkey, just to be like me.

I am honored beyond my capacity to express myself. Thank you, America. I love you all.

This sort of national observance of my birthday has happened before, such as when I turned two, thirteen, nineteen, and twenty-four. I’m not sure what the relationship is between those particular birthdays, but if this is the treatment everyone gets on their thirtieth, then no one has any business complaining about it. Happy 30th to me, and gimme my drumstick.