Life in the City of Angels: Vegas Odds…..and Happy Birthday to Me.

Birthday Tradition

Since 1977 I have celebrate my birthday by going to Pink’s Hot Dogs on La Brea Ave. in Hollywood, California. Woo, doggie! There I delve into my culinary delight of chili, onions, mustard, shredded cheese, one mystery meat hot dog, a steam heated bun, icy root beer, onion rings, french fries with ketchup, and a free chocolate cake. Happy Birthday to me at 73 years old. I made it this far in spite of the odds and speaking of the odds. What are the odds of my parents meeting, finding each other attractive and enjoying each other’s company, and continuing to stay together and having a child is 1 in 2,000. The chances of me being conceived to become who I am are (that is, that one particular egg meeting that single sperm; nice imagery for you there) is 1 in 4 quadrillion. The odds of my lineage remaining unbroken long enough to create me: 1 in 10[45,000]. That’s my incredibly unclear way of writing 10 with 45,000 zeros after it, so I don’t fill up this entire page with 0’s. This means that every single one of my Scottish ancestors and that one percent Nigerian also had to be conceived to become exactly who they were, so that scales the chance of existing down to 1 in 10[2,640, 000]. When I calculate all of these possibilities and chances, the chances of you or me existing are basically a big fat zero. Happy Birthday to all who have beaten the odds.

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