I've been straining to articulate my ambivalence about spotting new venues (nightclubs, etc) in Manhattan that push my "looks fun!" buttons despite my aversion to actually taking part. I have an innate sense that they're not for me.
I could explain that I'm too old for the crowd, or too grumpy/shlumpy, or that I lack the requisite spirit of carefree superiority that comes from being raised by rich Manhattanite parents. All these things are true, but it doesn't quite sum up the dynamic.
Finally, after years of trying to explain my own perspective to myself, I've got it. Watching people go in and out of such places feels exactly like watching kids trick-or-treating.
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4 comments:
Funny, Jim. I had a similar realization about ten years ago.
I purchased some Leonard Cohen concert tickets from a guy off of Craigslist. He was about 25 years younger than me and I expressed surprise that he was a fan. Anyway, we talked about music and shared a cup of coffee. As few were about to part, he asked me if I would like to hear his band play at a bar right around the corner from where I lived. I accepted.
When I got there, it was hard not to notice that I was clearly the oldest person in the room, which really didn't bother me too much at all. Anyway, after the first set, a young woman sitting next to me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me, "You must be Dylan's [the lead singer's] mom?"
I replied no, but the puzzled look on her face spoke volumes. She was clearly thinking, "well then why are you here then?" The incident haunted me for awhile and, looking back on it, was the first time I felt truly old.
A good story well-told!
However, I've spent my entire life being the doesn't-belong ringer in every crowd. I was perennially the only white guy in black bands, the only poor guy at fancy dinners and tastings, the funny-looking guy with discordantly cute girlfriends. In my 20's, most of my friends were in their 80s and 90s. Before my fascinations became mainstream crazes, I was the sole guy in the yoga class, the sole yogi in the beer bar, and the sole beer fan who wouldn't touch Bud. I was a chowhound in a world of foodies.
So I am fuckless about what people think. To this day, I hang at concerts and run up staircases and pay little heed to my age or reactions thereto. That's why I say:
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I could explain that I'm too old for the crowd, or too grumpy/shlumpy, or that I lack the requisite spirit of carefree superiority that comes from being raised by rich Manhattanite parents. All these things are true, but it doesn't quite sum up the dynamic.
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I'm not talking about alienation or age issues.
Again, it's like watching tick or treaters. A new crowd of kids being processed through this hoary tradition sparks cherished Halloween memories for me, but I don't particularly want to don a Batman costume. I wish them well, seeing that it's the same old cycle, the same institution with a new set of wide-eyed participants.
Thanks for this Jim, though I still wouldn't mind seeing you don a Batman costume. Maybe I'll head out to that magic the gathering tourney tonight after all. He he!
Jim, my fondest memory of you is when you played Purple Haze solo on the trombone at one of my wine tastings...lol
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