Teen Bagger to Teen CheckOut Guy about "Come Sail Away" playing on the in-store tape: "Have you ever heard this song before? I really like it. I don't know who sings it though."
CheckOut Guy: "Yeah, I've heard it before too, I think it's really old. Not bad, I guess."
Wimper.
More and more often, I am feeling not young. I don't feel "old" yet, but definitely not young. For the most part, it's confined to comparisons between myself and celebrities - media, sports, music, etc. I've gotten over the inner groans when I see 20 year olds making millions and have come to appreciate the graceful aging of older celebrities, which just means that I have convinced myself that older stars are better looking than younger stars. I find myself laughing at shows like The Real World, which is currently in its eleventy-millionth season, and thinking that the cast members these last few years are getting more and more immature. Oh, and Britney is a tramp but Madonna wasn't.
In the last year or so, though, it's gone way past that. In every day life I am beginning to see the huge gap between me and "those damned kids." Now when I notice girls I'm not thinking, "I wonder where she got that top," it's more like, "Why the hell did her parents let her out of the house wearing that?" and teenage boys look like hoodlums (HOODLUMS, I tell you) with their jeans hitched up all the way to their ... knees.
All that aside, this grocery store incident was particularly painful. Why? Because only two nights before, I was listening to Napster radio and had a nostalgic moment over "Come Sail Away." It was nice. Sweet. Warm and tingly. And now - all dashed to geezer hell.
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