Happy birthday Ken

I think of all my buddies, I've known Ken the longest, since my early grade school days and Sunday Chinese school.
Ken has a better memory about select events in my life than I do. Frightening. He also know more about random facts of culture and current events than anyone I know.
He was also there for two of the great tragedies of my life. The Cubs losing to the Padres in the 1984 playoffs, and my Little League team losing two straight games to our opponents in the Little League World Series in Palatine. We only needed one win to win the Pony League. Someday, when the Cubs win the World Series, Ken will be the first guy I call, and we'll be dancing around and weeping like babies. Well, maybe only I will. I think Ken's more rational and sees the futility in being a Cubs fan.
There's a lifetime of shared memories there: staying up late playing computer games he'd pirated from friends; playing two man baseball in his backyard and having to sneak into the neighbor's yard to fish baseballs out of their pool when we hit home runs; outings to Wrigley Field; sitting around laughing our heads off over Far Side collections; Baker's Square; golf at that course near his house with the 600+ yard hole, I can never remember the name of that place; the time we double dated those Swedish twins, both of whom were models.
Okay, okay, maybe some of my memories are slightly off. They weren't really twins.
Ken, the two strange memories I recall from your life are the home run you hit in that one little league game, and you chipping in from on top of the hill onto a lowered green on some golf hole at that course near your house. I'm still jealous.
Happy birthday dude.


How awkward is it when some of your friends don't get along with other friends of yours?
That's a rhetorical question.