Fun, Fun, Fun

I turned 40 last Wednesday. I couldn't find a newspaper to commemorate the occasion to save my life, but that's what you get for being born at election time.

Two Sundays ago, my clever and thoughtful wife threw me a surprise bowling party to commemorate the occasion. Kate encouraged attendees to dress like me at different points of my life, so my dad showed up wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Chuck Taylors, which were my somewhat unfortunate uniform for much of the late Eighties and early Nineties. For her part, my mom dressed wore a Randall's uniform to represent my illustrious sacking tenure there. I don't think I could've been more surprised at that particular sight.

This past weekend, Kate and I went to Fun Fun Fun Fest in Waterloo Park. Aside from the dust, the festival lived up to its Big Boys-inspired name with spirited performances by the Krum Bums, Young Widows, Municipal Waste, the Dead Milkmen, the Ugly Beats, the Cynics, D.O.A. and many more under mild blue skies.

The only downer of the festival came when I overheard a couple of youthful punk rockers referring to someone in one of the many reformed acts playing by saying, "Shit, man. That dude's old. He's like 40 or something."

I don't mind the loud music one bit, but I wish the kids would keep it down when they say things like that.