My Special Day
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 75, which is not an entirely pleasant thing, milestonianly speaking. But I did hear words of cheer from some of my closest friends, such as, um, the National Football League, above, and also from my besties at Luxe Dermatology and Aesthetics Center, a place I visited six years ago for help curing a stubborn case of fingernail fungus:
I admit I was disappointed that the folks at Luxe did not extend their 15 percent largesse to Botox or “filler,” which is apparently a collagen-stimulating injection that plumps up various parts of your body that may have “sunk in” a little because of aging. Places such as one’s caboose.
I think you know where I am going here. I am not a big fan of adults who want a big deal made about their birthdays. I am an even lesser fan of merchants who capitalize on the attention-seeking vanity of adults who want a big deal made about their birthdays.
These were the opening lines of a column I wrote about the subject five years ago, in the Washington Post:
I have a friend named Cecilia. She is a professional puppeteer, but that is not the most interesting fact about her. The most interesting fact about Cecilia is that, every single year, on June 10, she celebrates the day she was born, which was precisely on June 10. It is — get ready for this — her birthday.
Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: How can I get one of those? And the astonishing answer is that you can! You merely have to know the date you were born, and that is the day that is, and will always be, your birthday!
Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: Wait a minute! Doesn’t that make a birthday a moronic thing to celebrate, since every living human being has one, regardless of their worthiness or accomplishments? For example, Adolf Hitler had a birthday! It was April 20!
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So, that’s where I stand. It has not proved to be a particularly popular stand among people who write letters to the editor. But I persist. In the last few years, the birthday phenomenon has grown more absurd because it has become co-opted by commercial enterprises under the thrall of marketing professionals.
Just yesterday, in addition to the NFL and the dermatologists I got automated, computer-barfed birthday greetings from my money managers, my primary medical care providers (“Book your Annual checkup with the focus on preventing health issues before they happen. (Services outside preventive care guidelines set by your insurance may not be covered and may result in a bill…”) and also from Suno, the company I found out about last week that turns your poems into songs. I also got this handsome piece of 12-step treacle:
This was from the folks at Solace Health, a reputable advocacy group that intercedes between patients and the medical system to help negotiate the implacable maze of bureaucracy that people without power or clout often face. I have nothing ill to say about them, but their communication was not welcome because it reminded me of the sordid reason they had my name and birthday. I had phoned them one day when it looked as though my insurance company was going to turn me down for coverage of my $450-per-month GLP-1, which I could have wincingly afforded on my own but didn’t want to, a problem that was resolved because I am not without money or clout. It was a birthday greeting that shamed me.
I also got a birthday greeting from a car dealership from which I once asked online about new cars with manual transmissions, and was told there were none, and that was it. And also from a funeral home. I don’t know how they got my email, and don’t want to know.
So what to do about this tawdry trend? I believe that columnists shouldn’t just kvetch. I think they should offer practical solutions. To deliver mine, I am borrowing from the end of that column I wrote five years ago:
“Because you are a smart person, you are likely wondering what I think of childhood birthday parties. I am fine with them. Children are wonderful innocent creatures who have little reason, in their lives, to celebrate their accomplishments, except for such things as successfully pooping in a toilet.
“I do not begrudge them the birthday conceit, except that they have to understand it has to end. I propose the age of 9. I think every child’s ninth birthday should be declared the Birthday Repudiation Day. The kid gets a lot of presents, and they will be big, like a pony or a piano or an actual spaceship, but that will be it for the remainder of his or her life. It’s the day you understand your birthday forevermore means squat. Depending on your religious and ethnic background, this will be a more important day than your bar mitzvah, your quinceanera, your Shichi-go-san, or your Sunrise Ceremony, a sacred, four-day Apache puberty ritual for girls after their first menses.”
So.
Hey! This is the weekend Gene Pool. You have to send me something in return! In this case, send me your thoughts and anecdotes about other ways merchants and marketers are abusing us. The funnier, the better. Send them here:
Here is today’s installment of a new feature, Your Best of the Week Barney & Clyde cartoon, chosen by me and accompanied by an amusing/enlightening backstory.
This one appeared on Sunday:
The backstory here is actually a frontstory. Shortly after writing this, and weeks before it was published, Rachel asked me for an idea for a short scene she could film for an acting reel used in auditions. I said, “I have just the thing!” She did exactly this scene. She played Lucretia and a friend played Dr. Marcie. (And yes, Dr. Marcie is a grown up Marcie, from “Peanuts.”)
You can read the rest of recent Barney & Clydes, right here on the Gocomics website. It’s free.
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You can’t get this kind of stuff anywhere else on Substack. Might it be worth 7 bucks for 20 columns a month? Please consider it, if you can.