Birthday Musings

This morning, my phone rang at 7 am. I picked up: “You say it’s your birthday… it’s my birthday, too, yeah!” The family tradition is still going strong: every birthday morning, we listen to the Beatles “Birthday” and dance around.  My cat wasn’t really up for the dancing part.

In Slate, there is a discussion of how driver’s licenses provide far too much information for a bartender or bouncer to check DOB. (Hat tip.) I usually hand over my passport, not my license, because it doesn’t have my address on it; nevertheless, Albert Wong’s contention that eye color, gender, height, and weight are all irrelevant to identification seems misguided.  First, any person who is looking at you has a fairly good idea of all of those things; moreover, it is necessary for a bouncer to determine whether you handed over your own ID or someone else’s ID.  Those identifying characteristics are necessary to determining identity.

One of my college friends, whom I dated “back in the day,” emailed me to wish me a happy birthday.  (We still call each other every Christmas to wish each other a happy Sol Invictus Day.) He also mentioned that his Facebook matchmaking app listed me as one of his most compatible friends.

 

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