As I walked from the parking lot into the store the other day, a small compact passenger vehicle cruised past me before pulling into an empty slot. The car groaned low on its tires from the weight of five full grown men, elbows sticking out of their respective windows, singing together at the top of their lungs along to some country western song. It made me smile.

Apparently, they haven’t been paying close attention to the news recently. Don’t they know that there’s a swine flu out there (that we’re apparently not supposed to refer to as swine flu anymore)? That people are losing their jobs? That the stock market is still floating belly-up in uncertainty?

I guess not. And if they do, it didn’t seem to really matter at that moment. And I’m glad. Because seeing those five goofballs singing for the sheer fun of singing together made my morning. It’s good to see grownups having fun publicly.

It also makes me feel better knowing there are others out there like me.

I love to play air drum in the car, music bumping, windows down, wind blasting my hair as I scream down the freeway acting anything but my age. But like most decent folks, once I pull into a parking lot, I surreptitiously lower the volume, stop headbanging against the steering wheel, and pull on my grownup face. Dignified, yes, I suppose. But it makes me wonder, is everyone faking it in public? Are we all twisting down the volume control as we pull into the lot?

My girlfriend has a trampoline in her backyard. I’m a little jealous. Okay, a lot. Fat Cat won’t let me have one because he’s afraid I’ll embarrass the neighbors. (I, myself, can’t think of anything funnier than seeing my neighbors’ faces as I bounce in and out of view.) My friend says it’s for the kids, but I know better. She’s invited me over though. I can’t wait.

In the meantime, however, I’ve got Rock Band.