When Ray Bradbury was a boy, a magician informed him that he would live forever. This Sunday America's most popular and prolific short story writer turns 90--old by human standards, just getting started by the standards of immortals. When Bradbury was young, he cared too much about what critics thought of him, seeking to erase the pulp origins of his stories, running from the sci-fi label, and writing a few tales that flattered the political leanings of the literati. Now that he is an old man (by mortal standards), he could not care any less what anyone thinks of him. Read my celebration of Bradbury's birthday @ the American Spectator.