Happy birthday, Harlan Ellison
Seventy -three years ago today, as was foretold in prophecy, a child was born, a child destined to answer the question of what happens to an enfant terrible when he’s no longer an enfant.
Happy birthday, Cousin Harlan. (Yes, we’re cousins, at least, as is Neil Gaiman. Ariel David calls him Unky Harlan and calls me Unky Glenn, therefore we’re cousins-in-law at least.) Now if we could only figure out what to get you for your birthday… you wouldn’t want these extra tickets to the Star Wars convention, do you?