My Surreal Life

In college I was a raver and I have most certainly tested the patience of my right-wing father. He'd tell me about the new opera production in the city and I'd regale him with tails of Moontribe, the outdoor raves we used to throw in dry, desert lakebeds. He'd cringe.

I figured with my big fancy Hollywood life, I'd get to hook him up with celebs and name-drop with the best of 'em. As the Italians say: invece no.

Not only did dad shock me with a trip of his own to Burning Man last year ("the art and music were great" - hello, this is why I go to Coachella), he just called me with the following:

"I played my first paintball game this weekend."

"I've never even done that. Cool, dad."

"Yeah and do you know some Snake band? Some British guy, David something. We had dinner with this guy and his wife."

"Wait,wait, wait, you are telling me you played paint ball and had dinner with David Coverdale from Whitesnake?"

"Yeah, that's it. Really nice guy. You know him?"

"Um, yeah, 'Here I Go Again' was only like the anthem of high school."

"I had to look it up. Anyway, he's lucky I didn't shoot him with the paintball. Those things hurt! Great guy, really down to earth. We'll meet up for dinner when you're here."

Wha?

Parents grow up so fast. I think I raised him pretty well. He's out there, taking chances, experiencing new things, rubbing elbows with the fancy folk. I'm so proud...and I get to have dinner with a hair rocker legend. Rad!