They only want you when you’re 17, when you’re 21 you’re no fun

I saw Girl Talk at the Sound Academy in Toronto last night, and it made me realize some things.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time and danced, well, violently. He played some of my favorites, and even though it was my third time seeing him, nothing had gotten old. The balloons floating above my head, the toilet paper getting tangled in my hair, the confetti entering my air passages, sending me into convulsive gags…it all felt as new and exciting as the first time I saw him.

I lasted about an hour, and then something happened. Apparently, I got old.

I used to love being in the thick of things, sandwiched between sweaty anonymous bodies, gasping for breath and losing my shoes. Once in a while I still enjoy that foreign experience, sharing a moment with thousands of people you don’t know, basking in the music and stage lights. Now, though, I can only enjoy that experience for so long.

This time, after an hour and singing and dancing my heart out, I got tired. Thirsty, too. My feet were hurting and I was concerned about the state of my shoes. The convenient back brace of people leaning on me meant my back was a-okay, but before the music started, my back was not a happy camper.

None of these things are new. I always got tired and thirsty and my back was always the arch nemesis of concert experiences. The difference is, though, I have less patience now. If I’m uncomfortable, I’m going to make sacrifices to make myself a little more comfortable. Last night, that meant leaving the fray and heading to the back of the venue, where the people were fewer and the air conditioning was stronger. Bathrooms and beverages were close, there was room to dance my signature moves, all was good in the world.

So maybe I’m getting old, or maybe I’m just getting a hang of what I like and how I like it. I don’t know what Ladytron is talking about when they sing, “they only want you when you’re 17, when you’re 21 you’re no fun,” but I think I get the jist of it.

I’m 21, and you can bet I’m still fun. Now my fun is just more refined, and just how I like it.

So when you see that anonymous girl dancing by herself amongst the air conditioned freedom at the back of the room, just smile and know she might be getting a little old, but she’s having the time of her life.

This is my dancing face. If that anonymous girl dancing in the corner is making this face, chances are it's me. Beware, though. I tend to flail.

This is my dancing face. If that anonymous girl dancing in the corner is making this face, chances are it’s me. Beware, though. I tend to flail.

 

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