"THING IN HONOR OF BEN TANZER’S BIRTHDAY." Or if you prefer, a view and a yell, a warmly embraced tradition, and some most beautious Tomaloffian Ben Tanzer birthday prose.

There is this and there was that. It is a Tomaloffian birthday tradition now. And it is appreciated. All of it, and endlessly at that. 

"You wake to the sound of your own voice spelling out the officer’s request. “T-A-N-Z-E-R. Ben. That’s B-E-N.” A man with a lampshade on his head—or something that looks like a man with a lampshade for a head, or the silhouette of a full-figured lamp with the periodic foot to foot weight shift of shirtless man—watches quietly over the exchange. There is a slowing of motion; one side of the room is a whirling blur. You: a) check your shirt pockets for an offering of cake, noting your lack of surprise at finding several, or b) pull the remote from the band of your boxers, press “cancel,” & return, complete with stuffed bear, to the scene of the crime."