Last night, I was out with friends when they convinced me to go into the city to a club. Specifically, a gay karaoke club, though it could have been any club. I thought, what the heck, the kids are away, I don’t do this very often. It’ll be fun, I thought. Well, it wasn’t exactly fun. I think me and one of my friends were the only people over 30; the music was so loud, you couldn’t carry on a conversation; the air was smoky; and at one point, I was planning my escape in case of fire to try to beat the masses of panicked dancers. I was describing this to others this morning. And they said, “Face it, you’re old.”
Yeah, okay. I’m old. I don’t enjoy being in a dark smoky rooms with music so loud my head is vibrating. But you know what, I never really did. Yes, I went to clubs more often when I was younger, but much less often than going to blues bars, dives with good live music, or just out for burgers and beer and good conversation. My idea of a good time is having good friends around to talk to. Clubs are not about that.
So maybe I’m old. Whatever. That doesn’t make me any less cool. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.