Stamp collecting

This weekend, I somehow managed to forget or ignore the fact that I am old and antisocial and actually went out three nights in a row. I don't remember the last time I did that, and I'm considering the faded black smudge on the back of my hand a bizarre badge of honor for this accomplishment.

The smudge is, of course, the remains of the stamps that three separate burly men in doorways pressed onto my skin in that semi-permanent ink of which bars and concert venues are so fond. Three showers and multiple handwashings are no match for that stuff; I'll be showing traces of my weekend tomorrow still , I'm sure.


Stamp #1 - Thursday, Northrup Auditorium
Thursday night, six friends and I went to see Franz Ferdinand & Death Cab for Cutie on the U of M campus, where we were pleased to see we were not the oldest people in attendance after all. I was cracking jokes about finding a place to stash our walkers, but as it turned out, another distinct demographic was bringing up the curve: the parents who came accompanying their teenagers. I may have been one of the few people at that show without a Myspace page, but at least I'm not sporting the Mom Hair just yet. There's some small comfort in that, I suppose.

Stamp #2 - Friday, First Avenue
Friday I was at First Ave. for Rhett Miller's show, where I was too transfixed on the impossibly energetic Rhett, with his free-swaying ever-bendable hips and his shiny tousled rock star hair to pay much attention to anyone else. Few artists make me swoon like the giddy teenagers I've seen on old Beatles concert footage, but Rhett has a strange power over me that actually made me flutter my hands in front of me involuntarily more than once. He appeals to the good-girl geek in me. Sure, it's nearly a given that any man who's reasonably attractive becomes instantly sexier when he picks up a guitar, but the fact that this one has worked Kafka and Salinger and long division into his lyrics only adds to his charismatic appeal. I'm convinced that when Rhett introes the song Four-Eyed Girl with "This one's for nerdy girls everywhere!" he's speaking directly to me, of course. (I'm fully aware that he's got a wife and two small children who I'm sure he's loyal to completely, but let me have this one small fantasy for just a moment, OK?)

Stamp #3 - Saturday, Mario's Keller Bar
I haven't been to this place (or any loud crowded place with hundreds of young singles in scope 'n hope mode) in probably over a year, but I went there last night for a going away party for the last guy I mentioned in this post, who's taking a job in China for a year. I'm not sure what to consider the highpoint of the night... hearing an accordian-fueled polka version of "Love Me Do"? Jumping on a bandwagon about four years late and ordering my first vodka & Red Bull? No, I think it was being told by a 26-year-old guy that I have "a great body for a 32-year-old." Thanks for the twisted half-compliment, buddy. I'm sure he gets all the ladies with gems like that. Clearly if I were 27, he'd deem me a bit flabby, but since I'm 32, his expectations are lower and it ups my rating a bit? I shouldn't be so harsh, I suppose; he seemed like a nice guy (more or less), and he did at one point turn to his friend to say, "I like this girl; she's smart." Still, between the body comment and his friend's repeated request to make out with me, I'm really torn over which of the two wins the award for most charming and eligible bachelor. I'll admit the whole scenario was entertaining, though I can't decide if the experience means I should hit the bars again more often or less.

Stamp #4 - Tonight, my living room
No, I'm not inking up a rubber stamp and charging a cover for friends entering my home. What I'm referring to here is the checkerboard impression that my couch cushion made on my face when I dozed off for a bit just now. I may occasionally still try to party like a 22-year-old, but the bounceback will just never be as quick.