A Pirate Looks At Thirty (Part One Of What's Sure To Be Many)
Went up to Durkin's last night and caught the tail end of a lackluster outing from the Bulls, shortly after catching the Illini's latest waltz over a Big Ten opponent.
Five or six years ago you would have caught me in a joint like that 3 or 4 nights a week, swilling whatever the nightly special was, chatting up some Lincoln Park chick ("oh, you're a trader? you must be so rich") or playing yet another game of Name That Tune with my old drinking buddy Bryan. (Bryan and I had a running game of Name That Tune going for about 2 years, where the first person to name the artist and song owed the other guy a buck. We usually kept track on a napkin Bryan kept in his pocket) The guys who run Durkin's are a great bunch, I slung drinks at one of their sister bars back in 1997 and 1998, and it was probably the most fun I had in my life.
But anyway, I went in there last night, and boy did I feel like an old wrinkle. The bar was jam-packed with drunken 22-24 year olds standing in a circle singing a terribly off-key rendition of "Piano Man." (I cannot stand Billy Joel, to me he's a wussy version of The Boss) The music was turned up so loud I couldn't even talk to my friend, much less actually hear what the song was, and the waitresses and their seemingly endless trays of Jager shots just seemed oddly unappealing.
Yeah. I'm getting old.
Went up to Durkin's last night and caught the tail end of a lackluster outing from the Bulls, shortly after catching the Illini's latest waltz over a Big Ten opponent.
Five or six years ago you would have caught me in a joint like that 3 or 4 nights a week, swilling whatever the nightly special was, chatting up some Lincoln Park chick ("oh, you're a trader? you must be so rich") or playing yet another game of Name That Tune with my old drinking buddy Bryan. (Bryan and I had a running game of Name That Tune going for about 2 years, where the first person to name the artist and song owed the other guy a buck. We usually kept track on a napkin Bryan kept in his pocket) The guys who run Durkin's are a great bunch, I slung drinks at one of their sister bars back in 1997 and 1998, and it was probably the most fun I had in my life.
But anyway, I went in there last night, and boy did I feel like an old wrinkle. The bar was jam-packed with drunken 22-24 year olds standing in a circle singing a terribly off-key rendition of "Piano Man." (I cannot stand Billy Joel, to me he's a wussy version of The Boss) The music was turned up so loud I couldn't even talk to my friend, much less actually hear what the song was, and the waitresses and their seemingly endless trays of Jager shots just seemed oddly unappealing.
Yeah. I'm getting old.
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