I’m thirty and Michael Jackson is, at least legally speaking, innocent. Quite a day.

Aside from the obvious cork-popping over Michael’s acquittal, my 10,950th* day of exposure to the world’s pains and pleasures has been mercifully uneventful. Believe it or not, thirty doesn’t really seem to be phasing me, and I’m not a big birthday celebrator anyway. I’m all for celebrating and loving-up on people, but let’s be honest — we were all born and we all have a birthday every year. So, I’m happy to be wrapping up my 30th birthday sitting on the couch, eating the remnant shards of tortilla chips in the near-empty bag, enjoying a cold beverage, watching Dave (who just did a genius bit on the absurdity of celebrities who whine about privacy in between crack-backs on MJ and the jury).

[I also just saw a commercial where apparently someone claimed Madagascar is the funniest movie of the year. Please be advised that this is not true. I haven’t seen many films this year, but Madagascar was decidedly unfunny, both for me and my almost-three year-old son.]

Nicole Kidman is on with Dave, and she must be using extraordinary quantities of botox. Which reminds me, I am conclusively uninterested in any aspect of the romance/alleged romance between Scientologist Tom Cruise and Scientologist Katie Holmes. Everywhere I turn it’s Tom Cruise acting the fool on Oprah and Katie Holmes giggling with Regis and Kelly Lee. People are starving and living in fear of a genocidal demise all over the planet and this is what corporate media outlets choose to cover again and again (and, apparently, what many of us want to hear about)? I mean, really? No wonder half the world hates us.

And while I’m discussing serious tragedy, I should mention that it occurred to me recently that I will be very sad when Dave retires. No matter that he was snubbed for the Tonight Show, Dave is my generation’s Johnny Carson inasmuch as there is such a thing. Sure, he’s not as popular or universally embraced as Johnny, but he has character and presence and he’s become more human and relatable over time. Anyway, I’ll be sad when he quits, and I have a feeling that we’ll have very little warning when it happens.

So, as I was saying before, I’m thirty and happy. I have an amazing family — a loving, beautiful wife who is an exceptional mother to our children (including the one she’s going to hatch in a month or so, for whom she is presently suffering a great deal) and my faithful best friend and biggest fan; this unreasonably warm, funny, charming kid who makes every one of my days brighter and better just by being alive; and a baby girl who I haven’t met, whose name I don’t know, but who is certain to revolutionize our lives all over again very soon. I have parents who love me who have done me far more good than harm; brothers and sisters who are true friends; friends who are like brothers and sisters; and a church community who is, indeed, our family. I know a God who gave me all of this, who sustains me in ways I don’t deserve, and who will hold me in ways I can’t imagine. If there’s anything else, surely it’s completely superfluous.

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*Dear math nerds wanting to tell me that I’ve actually been alive a few days more or a few days less. I didn’t bother with leap year math. It’s my birthday. Leave me alone.