The Connecticut White Guy Blues

Thirty, so far, feels like twenty-nine or twenty-eight did. Saturday night I celebrated the last shreds of my twenties with some friends at a bar downtown with wasabi peas to snack on and live blues. The blues band was surprisingly excellent, especially considering they were a bunch of Connecticut white guys. Their frontman was a 40ish guy in a blazer and slacks -- right off the train from Stamford, you'd figure -- but he could sing, and wail on the harmonica too. I did not actually know there'd be live blues. I was drawn there after I learned they had wasabi peas at the bar. It's fun to set yourself up for random discoveries.

The birthday itself was a leisurely and fairly normal Sunday. Bought a new pair of running shoes, finished reading Into the Wild over a burger and a milkshake, taught myself to fix a flat tire on my bike. Maybe it's fitting to observe your milestones with typical, small-scale constructive endeavors. And I can truthfully say I'm feeling optimistic about being 30.