Feeling Older, Feeling Younger

So Saturday the wife and I went to the Orpheum Theater to see Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins play.

My plan was simple: find a place to park, grab some dinner nearby, wander over to the theater, enjoy the show.

Anyone who has ever been to the Orpheum Theater is laughing, because they know the first mistake I made.

The Orpheum Theater is in downtown L.A. (and not a particularly nice section of downtown L.A.).

And it turns out that Downtown L.A. pretty much shuts down around 4PM on weekends.

Literally.

We circled the theater, for blocks in every direction, looking for a place to eat. Nothing. And keep in mind, this is an area where thousands of people are about to descend for a concert.

Finally we found some hole-in-the-wall Chinese place that was about to close, that sold us some of the stuff that they were probably about to throw away. After my wife took the last of the edible-looking stuff, I wound up with sweet-and-sour mystery meat that had bones in it that I have never seen before.

I should have saved a couple, to take to a vet for identification. But some things you just don't want to know.

At least the noodles were edible enough.

Meanwhile, it's cold, so after the Chinese place kicks us out around 6:30 (about 15 minutes after we got there), we went back to the car to wait for the Orpheum doors to open at 7:00. In the car, we shot some craps on the dashboard, then played some hangman.

Then we joined the long line waiting outside the theater. Where I realized how stupid it was, because we're out here freezing in the cold, for tickets we have assigned seats to, for a show that according to the marquee doesn't even start until 8.

So I'm standing there on this line, shifting from foot to foot and wondering whether it's worth going back to the car to try to make a hard eight, when an older-looking women walking by expresses glee at seeing us.

Not because she knows us. We're total strangers.

But because, as she loudly exclaims, "I thought I'd be the oldest one here".

Jesus, lady. Fuck you.

Now I've had a touch of gray hair for a while, but I'm only 42. And hell, I'm young at heart. I should be getting mad props (as the kids put it, he said, rolling his eyes) for standing outside at line for a concert, even if it's the first one I've been to in a few years.

When I lived in Manhattan, I used to go to Roseland all the time, where the damn place turned into a huge mosh pit for the weirdest bands. Why the hell were people moshing to Juliana Hatfield?

I digress.

But you know, age is an issue in this business. I like to think my life experience is going to help me eventually sell a script, but meanwhile time is ticking by, and I keep on worrying about paying the bills (or taking a rare night off with the wife, sue me) rather than digging into my rewrite.

Anyhow, I shrugged it off (which was easier after seeing a lot of guys there older than me, bless their hearts).

I went to the show, and I even got up and danced a little next to my seat when it was appropriate.

I ran into a guy I know at a prodco on the drink line, chatted with him for a while. It made me want to get something in shape to inflict on him.

Opening acts Whisperland2000 and Tilly and the Wall were cute, and Jenny was great.

By the end of the night, I felt young again.

Hungry, but young.