A few Fridays ago, I decided to have a low-key evening and see a movie. It had been ages since I’d seen a movie on a Friday night, but I didn’t realize just how many ages it had been until I got there. I bought my ticket for the R-rated flick and proceeded to walk toward the nacho stand (and whatever else they might sell there) when I overheard something dismaying. The cashier at the ticket booth asked someone for their ID to see the same movie that I was seeing. He didn’t ask me for my ID! Do I not look like I am still in high school? I was just in high school. But then I looked around and noticed that the joint was lousy with teenagers. Through the dense fog of Abercrombie and Fitch cologne I reached clarity. I had not just been in High School. And don’t get me wrong, that is A-OK with me. I don’t miss being that scrawny kid with the gap-toothed smile. But it did get me thinking. Where do I fall in what I like to think of as a spectrum of maturity; and more importantly, how does that affect my nightlife?
Are you a twenty-something living in DC? Do you ever feel as if everyone has everything figured out except for you? If so, join the club (I’m the president) and this column is for you. I’ll be covering life in the district from the perspective of one of us bottom