Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

I thought it would be fun.

A 6-day getaway to laid-back, green&lush Seattle. Hang with The Girls. Get a little crazy.

In SF, my “color girls” (3 friends I’ve known since about 6 years old) wouldn’t stop until the whole town was painted red, red, red. Only thing is, suddenly I’m… old[er]. And definitely, certainly, unquestionably un-hip.

The plan for the week was to go to Bumbershoot as a belated celebration for T.’s birthday. I was unfamiliar with most of the bands playing. T. took me to MySpace to check out the line up. {Grimace} …they all sounded the same.

“Come on, you’ve heard of Records & Records, right? They’re way hot right now, I’m sure you know them,” T. prodded.

I shook my head.

“Krosho Kamuki & Yu?”

I look at her blankly.

“Life Buses for Uglies?”

Nothing.

But I bought the 3-day pass, figured I’d go with the flow, I can get down to just about anything. Problem is, my bedtime is usually 9:30, and… I was unenthusiastic.

“What about Beck? You know Beck! You can make it until 11:00 for Beck!”

Yes! Beck! I know Beck! I’m alone in the New Pollution! Am I a Loser Baby? Hell, Yes!

* * *

The arena is packed (kinda). When he walks onto the stage – an eruption of applause. He takes it higher, oh boy does he take it higher, and the crappy sound system notwithstanding, he’s pretty rockin’. I feel liberated. I may live with my parents in cow-town Penngrove and have the social life of an 80-yr-old, but God Dammit: I am still part of my generation; I can still function socially in a crowd of with-it urbanites; I can still shake my ass with the best of those dark-skinny-jeans-and-Forever-21-top-wearing hipster kids–

I, can rock out, to Beck.

* * *

I have a secret.

At the tailend of my Declaration of Youth, my Communal Empowerment, my Music Festival Collectivism Initiation – I realized something.

I am watching Beck live (or Man Man, Neko Case, PWRFL Power…who?) and I…

{double grimace} …couldn’t care less.

I clearly do not belong here.

I am not proud of this, but I was way more excited about the “Cheap Wine and Poetry” listing.

* * *

It was getting late. It was at least 8:30PM, was getting dark. I excused myself from some Norwiegan heartthrob super-star for some alone time. I was thinking about what all this meant:

Seriously. (Ser-iously.) Am I over the Cool Hill? Has my time for raw hipness passed me by? Everyone in line for the beer garden seem so… young. I sipped my ginger tea, pensive.

* * *

A very good friend of mine recently announced she was engaged. She’s “ready to start pumping out those babies.” She, interestingly, being the very same friend that said when we were 24 or so, “At least I can count on you, Shannon, to stay single with me as everyone else starts getting mar-ried and having kids, for chrissake {scoff}.”

(I remember, at the time, wondering if this was a compliment or insult. I still am unsure.)

At the time it made sense. I’m 24! I’m single! I ain’t going anywhere! I’m here to party!

So now everyone’s engaged, pregnant, or working on a 2nd kid. I’m not… quite there yet (we’re still celebrating my real-live commitment to a real-live boyfriend).

But now, I find myself certainly not preggars-ready, but also no longer a Death Cab cutie.

I have to ask the question: is there something in between? Can I read Salinger, drink herbal tea and go to bed early on a Friday night without fretting about whether I’m destined to be eaten alive by my cat Patches?

Beck. Babies. …or tea?


6 Comments to “Beck, Babies or Tea?”

  1. kathi DeJong says:

    Yes, there is something in between. It’s called finding the authentic life for you. Every life experience is unique. Moom

  2. Allison says:

    I can so relate. Last week I went out with my younger sister and her friends to a bar/club for her birthday. Half way through the night I was wishing I had driven my own car so I didn’t have to keep pretending to enjoy shaking my bootie in the overheated. sweaty. drinking and dancing scene till closing. I found myself wanting to shout out, “Will you please turn down that music so I can have a conversation?!”, “Why don’t they put some more chairs in this place?!”, and “You mean they actually CHARGE for WATER?!”. Granted, that hasn’t been my scene for a while, but when did I become such an old lady about it? I left hoarse, tired, and ruminating on my 20′s to 30 metamorphasis. Yes, these days I’d much prefer to spend an evening at my favorite open mic, have a game night with friends, or discuss the presidential nominees over drinks. I might not be “cool”, but I’m thinking I don’t care so much anymore.

  3. Aunt Penni says:

    Remember to not spend all your time evaluating your life. You might spend so much time doing that, that you actually miss out . Make choices as to what you want to spend your life doing/accomplishing; and then do it. You are so good at your writing, but do not let it slow down getting on with your life.
    Love you, Aunt P

  4. GiGi says:

    I hear ya sistah!

    On my recent trip to Mexico I went dancing 1 – count ‘em 1 night.

    Saturday night? I hung curtains.

    I get bored of quesadillas after eating them twice in one week – three or four years of the club scene (and I didn’t really participate that much) beat it out of me :)

    Why fret? I don’t think anyone who is making those choices (marriage, kids, etc) is thinking of it in any different way than you are, other than, wow – I don’t have to go out, get drunk, and find random men anymore! Plus I have a husband/wife/baby/partner/dog to do the FUN things with.

    Love you mucho.

  5. Roya Rose says:

    I haven’t wanted to go to a club in a long time.
    Granted, I am 8 months pregnant, married, with an 18 month old child, but still…
    There aint nothing wrong with a couch, a book, some laundry to fold and a glass of wine with friends.
    Plus, it costs MONEY to go out, and you have to wait in LINES (which I refuse to do…I’m too cool for lines)

  6. E. says:

    Yeah. I know. This phase kinda sucks, but I think we’re going to look back on it lovingly. Live the questions themselves.

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