Goooooood morning deesh! My heart is all aflutter today and it’s not just because Keenan Cahill’s chillingly beautiful rendition of Teenage Dream has in no small way touched and caressed my soul, but also because tonight at midnight it’s my fucking birthday! I’m having a party at the Risque Café and you’re all invited! I’ve got some tickets to see the Gaslight Anthem and Hot Hot Heat that I’m gonna raffle off as part of the festivities courtesy of my good buds over at JBTV and I’m gonna be whipping out 3 buck tallboys, 4 buck Malort shots (that’s right assholes!), 4 buck cheeseburgers and a power hour that’ll make your hair curl, bros. PLUS Toby Jeg’s gonna be there and he’s talking about doing some DJing, but of course the big, big deal is that it’s my birthday, so get over to your Nana’s house, steal some of her pain medication and bring it to me tonight at Risque Café over at Clark and Sheffield and stay for the party. It’s gonna be a real hoot!
So, yeah…birthdays. They’re a real time of stocktaking, aren’t they? I mean, that’s what they become starting around 30, I guess. I remember turning 25 and thinking that the dream was over, and it kind of was in a way. 25 is when you start looking like a man and creepy old dudes don’t just send drinks your way anymore, but the upside is that you’re finally kind of cool and worth being around (this last bit is especially true if you’re of the female persuasion) and generally, you’re kind of finally getting taken seriously, and that’s a nice change of pace.
Lots of people hate turning thirty, but I loved it. In fact, I thought it was terrific. Here’s why: I was still kind of Peter Panning around the world, making money just playing music in cool places like Perth and Japan and I felt like I was kind of immune to the doom that accompanies turning 30, so I felt a little bit invincible and also, suddenly I looked great for my age. When I turned 30, suddenly people started being surprised that I was that old, whereas at 29 I was impressing absolutely no one. This led me to a great unspoken realization that I’m gonna share with all of you right now, but first a small anecdote to set the scene:
I know a guy who’s pretty pathetic (actually, I know a lot of guys who are pretty pathetic, and even a lot of guys who fall into this specific category of patheticness, but bear with me here). He’s my age, but he looks much older. He’s kind of tubby and bald and has fucked up teeth and he’s done a few goofy things to himself (tattoos and lobe stretching and shit) that have not aged well on him and the results are uh…not that good. Now, again, he’s my age BUT when he meets chicks he tells them he’s 27. I guess his thinking is that if he’s closer to their age, they’ll feel less skeeved out about putting his wiener in their mouths, but this logic is completely misguided for a few reasons:
1) If he’s saying he’s 27 to a 21 year old, that’s still gonna seem pretty old to her (especially since he looks like he’s older) and it’s really not gonna get him anywhere. If he’s talking to a girl over 25 (remember, finally cool) then she’s probably not gonna make a decision about blowing him based on his age anyway. It’s gonna be up to his good looks (heh) and charm (again, heh) unless he’s talking to the right kind of girl and he’s got an 8 ball on him.
2) If he’s 27, he looks TERRIBLE! Hell, he looks terrible for being 33. If he’s 27, he’s swimming in the most polluted and undesirable gene pool of all time. Which leads me to my realization:
If you’re a man and you feel like you should lie about your age, you should ALWAYS lie and say you’re older than you are. It will only make you look more handsome and well preserved. Think about it. I’m no prize if I’m 27, but if I’m 40? I look absolutely spectacular. You should probably leave shit like lying about your age to old women and teenage boys looking to buy cigarettes, but if you MUST do it, don’t make the great mistake of saying you’re younger. That only makes you look dumber and uglier than you already are.
This year, I’m getting old and I kind of feel like a dipshit. I mean, I’m working at a dumb bar and just kind of space coasting towards inevitable doom. But that’s not for thinking about right now, folks. Right now is my last day as a youth and tonight at 9 the party begins (and then kicks up a notch at midnight), so suck it, Doom! I’ll deal with you later.
Okay, you want Gaslight tickets? How bout Hot Hot Heat? How bout just to take some Malort shots and help me get older? Then I’ll see you tonight.
Later puds, I’m off to the farmer’s market.
Oh, and go watch Teenage Dream (with me) if you’re one of the few who hasn’t already seen it. It’s truly heartwarming.