So long, jello shots

I got to thinking about jello shots the other day, and realized that I've finally reached a stage in my life where I feel I am too old for a certain number of things. The signs are there: for example, I've reached the age where my generation's shock rock is now sagely discussed by NPR's music critic. I did not detect any note of irony earlier today during his report on "the distinguished work of Kiss and AC/DC."

And in some ways, it seems like cause for celebration. I'm looking forward to my thirties. It promises to be a good decade. To be sure, there are things that I'm not quite ready for: backing the car up without looking, tour bus vacations, water aerobics, dinner at 5:30 PM. But there are a fair number of things that, while I might not promise never to revisit them, I'd say are for me safely in the category of the jello shot.

So in tribute to the thirty-somethings, and our decade full of promise, I begin my list of things I leave to those youthful sprites still in their twenties to enjoy:

jello shots
waiting in line for Sunday brunch
rock concerts with anthems where people wave their lighters around in the air
listening to music standing up
kegs of Pabst
driving aggressively—-it’s all zen behind the wheel these days
acid washed jeans
blue mascara
step aerobics
sun tanning—-or “laying out” as we like to call it back home
Marco Polo
the yard of beer
Casey Kasem
painting any part of my body for a sports team
tie-dye
hotel rooms where I’m afraid to shower without flip flops on
wine coolers
sleeping until noon (alas)
gum that comes in cubes instead of sticks
any garment that makes it obvious I'm wearing a thong
group dancing in a circle
Cheetos
coffee drinks with more than 3 adjectives
that long-range plan to buy a motorcycle