Today is my birthday. (By a strange coincidence, I had one on the same date last year.) So far it’s been pretty good, by the standard of my birthdays.
I consider it a birthday gift from God that three Norwegians came to the bookstore today. An elderly gentleman in the party engaged me in conversation, speaking VE-RY SLOW-LY so I could understand him. That was pleasant, and they even bought some things.
And the crew at work bought me a cake for afternoon break, and signed a card. Good cake, too. Tonight I treated myself to half a small Domino’s sausage pizza (they’re knocking half off the price of any pizza ordered online this week. Doubtless just for me).
I also got an e-mail from a guy in Russia, who claimed to be a fan and asked for an autographed book plate for his copy of Wolf Time, and a photo. I can’t figure out a way for this to be a scam, so I’ll be spreading the joy to the eastern hemisphere as well.
And to top off my indulgence, I’ll post my book trailer, because it’s my birthday and you have to humor me.
Happy Birthday Lars!
If he has your photo and your signature, what could he make with them? A passport? An ID? I have no idea, but I’m very suspicious.
Btw, Happy Birthday!
Thanks to both of you. I’ll send a b&w photo, which shouldn’t be much use for a passport. Or maybe it’s a bad idea.
Happy unbirthday! (I’d say I’m being non-conformist in avoiding the whole birthday wishes bandwagon, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest. Which is to say, to put it bluntly, a lie.)
Don’t you just hate living in a world that has to make something that was once so innocuous as asking for a signed bookplate and a photo into an exercise in “How could someone use these to steal my identity?”
Make the photo one of you during live steel combat, and sign with just your first name and initial.
Good idea.