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I’m not one to joke around about “feeling old.” In fact, I tend to think and act like I’m still a freshly-graduated drunken idiot. I’m of the school of thought where, if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad (Crow, S. 1999). My roommate’s brother is like 33, still single, and blacking out with college kids every weekend in NYC. If he doesn’t feel too old to do that, I’m not going to judge at all. Hell, I’m 27, and I’m right there next to him.
But yesterday, crushing RBVs well past most people’s bedtimes, dancing my brains out as a DJ duo blasted remixed Fleetwood Mac songs at really, really ridiculously loud volumes, I felt old for probably the first time in my life.
*Record scratch* *freeze frame* You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.
I’m a huge Fleetwood Mac fan, as is one of my best buddies. We’ve recently been introduced to a DJ duo called Fleetmac Wood, who surprise surprise, remixes Fleetwood Mac songs. And it is glorious. Highly recommend.
Anyway, we got word from a friend that they were playing a show at (Le) Poisson Rouge, which, to put it lightly, is a place for young people. Their slogan is “serving art and alcohol,” and their Wikipedia page describes it as “a music venue and multimedia art cabaret.” Da fuck? I actually recently went on a date with a 23-year-old who recommended this place as a fun place to go for my birthday, but then rescinded. saying it might not be “my scene,” and when I asked why, she said, “well, you’re turning 27, you’re getting old.” SO, certainly a place for the young crowd, it would seem.
The first indication that maybe I’m a bit too old for this kinda stuff was a few hours before the show, my buddy and I both had what I would describe are strong to quite strong fears that we were the only two people in NYC who fill the prerequisite overlap of the Venn diagram of people who like Fleetwood Mac and people who like to dance to trance-y dance music. Then we showed up and saw thousands, maybe even hundreds, of people waiting in line to get into the club.
The second indication that maybe I’m getting a little too old to see DJs on a Thursday was when we were trying to figure out when we needed to get to the club. The website said doors open at 10, and show starts at 10. I literally couldn’t understand how that could be possible to have both doors open and show starting at 10. And then I got there, realized they just make everyone wait in line, and then when they open the doors, everyone goes in.
The third indication that maybe I’m too old for this shit was when I realized everyone there was most likely rolling their faces off. I couldn’t believe anyone would take so many drugs on a Thursday night. Do these people not have work tomorrow?! The answer, it would seem, is probably not, considering more than half the audience was probablyyyy in college.
Flash forward to after the show, it’s 2 a.m. and I’m housing pizza on my couch. And then I tossed and turned all night with outrageously bad heartburn. Apparently, a stomachful of vodka, several Red Bulls, and two slices of thiccccc pizza is not something a 27-year-old can so cavalierly consume on a Thursday night.
But I regret nothing. Did I feel old? Yeah. But the whole night was just a shot of life. The dancing. The music. Being so drunk on a Thursday and not giving a shit. It was all awesome. I felt old, retrospectively, but in the moment? I’d say it made me feel young, like a college kid. And that, my friends, is when I knew I was old. Because if I have to say that doing something fun made me feel young again, that’s the only indication I really need to confidently say: I’m getting old..