Lace up those Doc Martens tightly. You don’t wanna break a hip in the mosh pit.
I just had another birthday and I’m wondering if I seem as old and uncool to young people as my parents seemed to me when I was a teenager.
I don’t have kids, otherwise I might have someone to tell me how embarrassing I am. I like to think I’m still pretty hip, but I’m paranoid because of the memory of one night in downtown Orlando circa 1996.
I distinctly recall being at The Club at Firestone to see some DJ. This was shortly after I transformed from my grungy/gothy stage into my sparkly club-kid phase. My posse of baggy-jeaned friends and I were in full-on rave mode, dancing to the musical stylings of one of the headliners of that day (probably Sasha and Digweed, Keoki, Rabbit in the Moon, Icey, or the like).
And then I beheld the dreaded old-guy-at-the club.
You’ve seen him. He crashes all the venues; the bleak harbinger of your future uncoolness.
This particular specimen of old-guy-at-the-club was very enthusiastic, bopping and thrusting in front of the smoke machine. Then he tried to merge with us, busting-a-move in the middle of our group in his Wranglers.
My friends and I disengaged our ring-pops, holstered our glow-sticks, and cleared the dance floor as if he had a contagious disease. We stood around him in a circle, watching his gesticulations under the laser lights in abject horror.
We couldn’t speak over the music, but our thoughts hovered in the Vicks vapo-filled air. He doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t he know that?
From that day on I vowed to never become the old-guy-at-the-club.
Fast forward almost twenty years (f*cking sh*t, can it really be that long?) I find myself with the fleeting urge to go to concerts, electronic music festivals, or nightclubs. But The Husband, in his wisdom, never takes me. I think he’s saving me from the hard truth. I can’t go anymore. I’m too old.
I found this quiz on The Village Voice proving that my generation has officially shifted into the charming, yet obsolete sector of the population.
Note the word “geriatric” in the title. My suspicion is further verified by the fact that many of my beloved films now appear on the classic movie channel. Depressing, I know.
Man! I thought Gen-Xer’s would always be relevant and cool. I never planned on growing up. Now I wonder… should I give up my Converse? Is it time to remove my tragus piercing? Do I have to start wearing high-waisted khakis?
Tell me it’s not true.
What do you miss about The 90s?
What are your favorite memories from The 90s?
How old is too old to be at the club?