The Big 2-0

The dreaded day came and passed, and what's changed is merely my age. That's what I keep telling myself anyways, that all that changed was a number and that my level of responsibility and maturity is still totally dependent on my internal workings. My mental processes, the demands put upon me by society, and so on, will always be the most important factors in deciding my "real" age, if you will, and I still decide exactly how old I am. Take my dad, for example. He turned 46 today, two days after my birthday, and in that occasion shared his philosophies about age. He explained how he as a teenager had thought of 46-year-olds as only one step away from the grave, and how he had perceived even his own parents as old when they crossed their mid-forties. Now, he continued, he was feeling totally different, he felt in good shape, and mentally he would have had no problem believing he was still 30. The future, though, was more uncertain. He's nearing 50, which he now knew to be an age of great vigor and even physical fitness, so that wasn't a major point of concern. The 60s were a little more uncertain, and the 70s he still thought of as pretty old. It's interesting how our perceptions change as we gain life experiences and wisdom, and we all seem to come to the conclusion after a while that age is merely an illusion. Which I find solace in, which makes me able to tell myself I'm still the 'reckless' teenager, still my parents' young, protected son. Anything else would still be too scary and overwhelming.

To the point of my post this time, the birthday celebration this Saturday. The day was a very quiet, easygoing one to begin with, and I woke to the loud ringing of my phone. It was my mom, who had been trying to reach me since that special 9:03 time, the exact time I was born, and she finally reached me at 9:18am. It's the thought that counts, and I thinks it's so incredibly cool that she remembers every year, and even to call on the time of birth. Nice. We talked for a while, and I went back to sleep (hey, waking up before noon on a Saturday? Not likely). My dad called around 12, and after talking to him I got out of bed and spent the afternoon having lunch (I actually cooked myself a fantastic Mexican tomato soup from Guerrero with chili, jalapeno, and paprika), eating a whole bag of my favorite nuts in this entire world, Norwegian chili nuts, discovering that Norway was winning the Olympics by a lot of points combined, feeling the national pride make me happy, and having a 20-minute nap.

The 'party' (hullabaloo/shindig/clambake/gathering/shabang) itself was supposed to start at 7:30 p.m., and all the guests had shown up promptly then at T.G.I. Friday's, but even with reservations we had to wait for 25 minutes. That was fine, I was having fun talking to everyone and being sociable, so time went by quickly. The dinner itself for me and most of the other 11 people, consisted of 3 courses, and I had 'Cheese covered potato skins', a fantastic 12 ounce "New York Strip' steak, and a cheese cake to go. We had a great time, I think, and it was a lot of fun. Marianne gave me some interesting gifts, including a Swiss army knife and a night light, but it was all good.

So, the embarrassing part of birthdays. Towards the middle of the dinner Denise had the brilliant idea to tell the waiter it was my birthday. The inevitable snowball. "Happy birthday" wishes from him turned in to something much bigger as soon as I had started relaxing again and thinking that would be it. Suddenly another waiter pops up behind me, and immediately tells me that my chair was broken (original!) and that I would have to stand up. Oh, great. My initial response was "Ha, I'm not falling for that," but when he kept insisting I decided to play along. Up I stood, and immediately he started shouting to the whole restaurant. "Attention, everybody, we have an emergency in the restaurant; This young guy has a birthday today, and that's why I want absolutely everybody to join me in singing Happy Birthday". Uhm, splendid. "Even you guys in the back, sing along! His name is Christian! Come on, sing! Happy birthday to you..."

I was standing there all the time, not blushing according to my friends, listening to the birthday tribute. Even for the "how old is he?" from somewhere in the restaurant, and then I could sit down again. Pheeew. The remaining time all the passing waiters brought a balloon that they tied to my wrist, of course, and wishing me a happy birthday. We left around 10-ish, so I'd deem the evening a rewarding, fun celebration, despite the embarrassing moments inbetween.

That night, around 12, Markus decided to let me drive his car around town, before ending up at the 24/7 coffee shop Sonkofa. I never knew driving was so much fun! I did well, stopping at the correct times, going the correct speeds, overall doing a good job. I recently go my instruction permit, which is a 10-minute driving test away from a driver's license. Some practice, now, and I'll have it. For the great price of $2... Imagine what I save from the $2000-$3000 in Norway..

Anyhow, that was my b-day, I had a blast and got a couple of neat gift cards (one for HuHot, great place, and another for calling minutes to Norway). A good day, and now (the gray Monday) I have more homework than at all desirable. But fine, I can surely tackle 2 essays, 2 book readings and 2 pages of chem chapter problems. I hope. (Taking deep breath.)

Pics can be found further down in this post.

Labels: Episode Accounts, Pictures, Special Events

posted by CK @ 22:04