I am a keeper of irrelevant anniversaries, which strikes me as a talent not unlike being able to raise one eyebrow or dislocate your little finger, mostly because I can also do both of those things.

Dates get stuck in my head. I don’t understand it, but I accept it and try not to write too many columns about it. I can tell you the anniversary of when we last switched internet providers, but you don’t really want to know.

It was in October, though. They’re all in October.

I don’t understand that, either. October is full of these useless numbers, dates that suddenly turn my head as I...