For the next 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.
The year was 1979.
Mr. Ed is dead and a new national sports network goes live, unleashing Chris Berman on the world.
I was ejected from my mother's womb at 11:13 p.m. on July 26.
I know this because I called my Mom and asked, even though she tells me the story every year on my birthday. One would think I would have the story memorized by now, but I don't.
Nothing particularly memorable comes to mind from my first five months of living; maybe it's because I spent a large portion of it asleep.
My parents do, however, have pictoral evidence of that summer, so I am assured that I wasn't given a fake backstory as part of some super-secret government plan to breed super-intelligent humans.
Key takeaway: My Dad liked posing for pictures topless. Must've been a hot summer.
In case you're wondering, I share a birthday with Kevin Spacey and Mick Jagger.
