I had a really great time downtown Tuesday night going to Nick's, a bar where the average age is somewhere in the 30's. Sitting in a booth by myself, I drank Bar Harbour Blueberry Ales while reading David Sedaris' "Me Talk Pretty One Day". I conversed with the bartender about indie rock music and beat poetry while getting a second bottle. I ran into a professor I had in undergrad and called him by his first name, and although I've always called him by it, there seems to be a trend. Which is: I'm dangerously close to becoming an old man, and a pretentious one at that.
A couple days earlier I found another gray hair, raising the grand total to four. I don't pluck them out because I think they give me character, like they are evidence of a life that hasn't come easy. I keep them because I think they make me write better.
Here I am explaning just how good the band Broken Social Scene is.