Tuesday, June 10, 2008

I need a cure from the Cure

The Cure was great!

Walker asked me if I ever saw them in high school and I can't remember but surely I did? I think I saw them at Astroworld back when Astroworld used to have concerts. Back when Astroworld used to have Astroworld (sniff). So, I probably did see them, sqeezed between U2 and Depeche Mode and the Ramones. And OMD, who were really not very good. And Erasure, who really were. Anyway when and if I saw them over 20 years ago, I can tell you a few things have changed. So last evening began a game of "You Know You're Old When".

Well, first off, when you have to line up a babysitter to go to the Cure. That didn't happen in high school (thank you Jesus.)

And you know you're old when instead of stressing for weeks over what you will wear, you grab a power nap during the last thirty minutes before leaving, and wake up and throw on a black tank and jeans and get ready in about ten minutes and call it Parental Goth. Which is exactly what half of your old friends did. Except their's were much cuter than mine so I did feel a bit of wardrobe envy, which did make me feel a little Younger.

So, you know you're old when stressed way more about forgetting your glasses than choosing your wardrobe.

You know you're old when you get a limo, not to be cool, but because you are all too lazy to drive downtown at night and then try to find your car after the concert is over.

You know you are old when you are in a box. And this is one of the glorious parts of aging. The box belonged to the law firm my friend Angela works for. It's good to have friends in high places - no pun intended hahahaha.

You know you're old when you are more excited about the free and fattening chicken fingers and greasy nachos than the opening band.

You know you're old when you have to look online because not one of the fourteen of you old folks even knows who the opening band is. (65 Days of Static. You don't know them either? Well, my friend, that would make you.....)

You know you're old when the lead singer of the band you used to love in high school is 49 years old with a middle age paunch to prove it.

You know you're old when the band plays 3 hours, and instead of being thrilled, you worry about babysitters and, um. You fall asleep during the last couple of songs.

They sounded great, but played mostly new stuff, which I didn't know. Another sign of Oldacity. They did four encores and didn't play Boys Don't Cry until an encore (which is what woke me up.) But they didn't play Lovecats or even Let's Go to Bed, so that was kind of disappointing. I don't even think they played Close to Me. They did play Killing an Arab, which shocked me. I thought that would be too politically incorrect for these trying times. Even though it is just a song about the Albert Camus novel The Stranger, which came out of the latter Existentialist movement. (Aren't you impressed? Walker was too. I had to write a paper on it in high school.)

But they were wonderful, and I was with my very cool husband who, I don't know if I've mentioned, is almost four years younger than I. So he keeps me kinda young.

We got home past midnight and y'all it took me ALL DAY to recover. I dozed on the couch and hoped the children survived for the majority of the day. Sheesh, talk about old. Used to be I could stay at a concert till midnight and still write a paper on existentialism when I got back home, but, alas, times have changed.

But I am very, very proud of myself. Tingly even! Because I have a video of last night on Youtube. Go here to see it. As of now, it had 38 views already!

That knocks a good ten years off my Olditude, right??
Fifteen. Let's make it fifteen.

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