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?