Twenty-nine years (and two days) ago I entered this world.  I like to believe that my appearance was accompanied by earthquakes, miraculous occurrences, and a really classic theme song (can’t decide which… the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey, “Back in Black” by AC/DC, “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana, “Master of Puppets” by Metallica, the Indiana Jones theme, stuff like that).  I find it logical to expect such signs and portents on a Halloween birth, though I have no actual documentation of such.  You may believe as you chose.  (Though those who have met me likely will not find it difficult to believe that my origins coincided with, at least, a minor explosion or two.)

Why do I write this today?  Because I did not write it two days ago.  Why do I not write more?  I just turned twenty-nine.  Maybe turning thirty deserves more than 150 words, but as one recently minted twenty-nine year old, trust me, turning twenty-nine does not.