I appear to not have taken a proper selfie on my actual 40th birthday, but my brother’s wedding was in late June of 2016, so we’re going to let that one be close enough. Other than the beard, I’m really not sure I look a whole lot different, but who knows.

We are not really doing a lot to celebrate. I spent the morning reading, which is not exactly an abnormal activity for me, and I just watched Norway beat Brazil, and I’m really hoping to watch Mexico trounce England in a couple of hours. In between, there will be burgers and more reading. I am nothing if not predictable.

Oh, and because my wife is the greatest of wives and the greatest of women, I get to feed capybaras next weekend. Which makes this the greatest birthday since the one where I got to pet a rhino. I wanted to go skydiving for my 50th birthday, but it turns out you can be too fat to skydive, and I am, indeed, too fat to skydive. And it wasn’t by like 10 or 20 pounds, either, where I could have done some sort of crash diet thing; nah, it’s by a large percentage of a normal human’s body weight. So that’s not a thing that’s going to happen absent a plane crash.

I was also really hoping something horrible would happen to someone horrible last night, and it didn’t happen. There’s still time left in the day, though, right? Come on, little blood clot. Do your thing.