Time to put down the crackpipe and back slowly away from the computer …
But that early stuff leading up to Infinity is pretty turgid — much like REO Speedwagon pre “You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tune a Fish” material.
Yesterday, I was checking on the web about an East Village bar and came across a site, whose name I can’t recall that offered capsule reviews of NYC bars by their crack team of twentysomething barhoppers. Their reviews had a real negative appeal — whatever they found cloying about a bar (reasonable sound levels, not too crowded, good mix of adults across all age ranges), I found likable. And vice-versa. What was really funny to me was that all these reviewers were in their late 20s and still subscribing to their “overgrown teenager” illusory point of view that’s become a given in our society with anyone younger than their early 30s — although I guess ironic nerd-dom knows no age group.
But the killer for this bar I was checking into came from a 29-year-old woman: “I didn’t think the bar was bad until a bunch of 35-year-old looking people who had control of the jukebox played a bunch of Journey songs. That’s when I called it a night.”
So, there’s a key — you want to clear a bar of pretentious, aging twats who are going to get beat with the Xanax stick over the next five years of their lives once they realize (but cannot accept) how old they really are, play Journey on the jukebox.
Time to put down the crackpipe and back slowly away from the computer …
But that early stuff leading up to Infinity is pretty turgid — much like REO Speedwagon pre “You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tune a Fish” material.
Yesterday, I was checking on the web about an East Village bar and came across a site, whose name I can’t recall that offered capsule reviews of NYC bars by their crack team of twentysomething barhoppers. Their reviews had a real negative appeal — whatever they found cloying about a bar (reasonable sound levels, not too crowded, good mix of adults across all age ranges), I found likable. And vice-versa. What was really funny to me was that all these reviewers were in their late 20s and still subscribing to their “overgrown teenager” illusory point of view that’s become a given in our society with anyone younger than their early 30s — although I guess ironic nerd-dom knows no age group.
But the killer for this bar I was checking into came from a 29-year-old woman: “I didn’t think the bar was bad until a bunch of 35-year-old looking people who had control of the jukebox played a bunch of Journey songs. That’s when I called it a night.”
So, there’s a key — you want to clear a bar of pretentious, aging twats who are going to get beat with the Xanax stick over the next five years of their lives once they realize (but cannot accept) how old they really are, play Journey on the jukebox.