Congratulations! You made it another year without dying!

SEATTLE, Washington — A few weeks ago, at a rock show at the Showbox in downtown Seattle, I watched an exceptionally drunk girl spend most of the show pushing her way to the front of the stage, repeating, "It's my birthday! It's my birthday!" Upon arriving at the front, she spent the rest of her time trying to get the lead singers' attention while yelling, "It's my birthday!" Presumably, she wanted a favor from the singer — maybe she wanted him to sing a specific song, maybe she wanted a kiss or an autograph, or maybe she wanted to stand on the stage.

I go to a lot of shows rock concerts and restaurants, and I've noticed a lot of (usually drunk) people using, "It's my birthday!" to call attention to themselves or get something they want. Well, I'm sorry to ruin your (and their) birthdays, but there are an estimated 6.5 billion people on the Earth, and if we assume that birthdays are evenly distributed (not totally true), one in every 365 of them have a birthday today. That means that on your "special" day, there are also 17.7 million other people sharing that same birthday (that's approximately the population of Los Angeles, Orange County, Riverside, and San Diego combined) . Yelling, "It's my birthday!" to get a free dessert or special song sung for you is the statistical equivalent of yelling, "I'm from Southern California," hoping to get special treatment from the bartender. The girl at the Showbox, who thought it was her birthday-right to slober alcohol on her fellow concert-goers and demand things from the rock star on stage must have forgotten that if the singer thought her birthday was as special as she did, then the crowd would have been treated to 17.7 million birthday song renditions.

Avoiding death is about the least impressive accomplishment I can think of — I'd probably be more impressed if a person figured out how to get themselves murdered in a given year.

I admit that not all 17.7 million birthday celebraters were at the Showbox that night, but let's do some simple calculations. The Showbox has a capacity of 1,300 people. Again, assume that one in 365 had a birthday that night, and the average concertgoer is probably at least three times more likely to be celebrating a birthday than a random person, because people tend to go out to special events on their birthdays. That means that on any given concert night, there's probably about 10 people celebrating their birthday at the Showbox. Even 10 special birthday songs would have sent me running home.

Even if she were the only birthday celebrater, she's missing the point. Why does she think she's owed a favor on her birthday? Are we supposed to be impressed that she managed to make it another 365 days without stepping in front of a car or accidentally mistaking Drano for coffee? Seriously, avoiding death in the United States just isn't that hard. It's like going to prison. You have to be a ridiculous failure of a person to get sent away to prison unintentionally during a lifetime. Avoiding death is about the least impressive accomplishment I can think of — I'd probably be more impressed if a person figured out how to get themselves murdered in a given year. Just making an enemy with such hate for you sounds complicated and time-consuming.

Am I saying that birthdays have no purpose? No. We celebrate the birthdays of our friends and family because we want to show our appreciation for them and our thanks that on that fateful birthday, they were brought into our lives. That's a great reason to celebrate a birthday. But, if you're a stranger expecting special treatment from me because you made it another year without an anvil falling on your head, forget it. Call me when you solve the energy crisis. Then I'll celebrate your birthday.

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