LIKE A FINE WINE OR CHEESE


A lot of candles on this cake=old. You got that, right?

You missed my birthday but let's not make a big deal out of it. I'm old. Seriously. O-L-D.

Last week, I went to see Green Day at one of their "smaller, intimate shows", and I stood, on my right, next to a middle-aged man in a charcoal gray sports jacket with peppered black hair and a "hey, I'm having a good time"-smirk across his face throughout the performance. See, guy was so happy to be away from responsibilities like taxes, bills, children and programming DVR's, and I got that. Then on my left, stood, rather, pogoing a twenty-something dude thrilled to be there, pumping fists at every chorus, feeling, no, FEELING Green Day. Looking to my right and to my left, I had a moment. Like had it been a television show, the action would have slowed down and there would been a Death Cab For Cutie song playing in the background. There also would've been a voice-over involving a "how did it get here" realization, "where am I?" awakening and/or "what does it all mean?"

Thing is, I realized at this exact moment that I was old because I felt myself relating so much more to Pepper Hair than to Fist Boy.

And it's been pretty much downhill since then.