Super Old

Hard to believe it’s been 13 years…

I have rather fuzzy memories of the last Super Bowl.  I was a spry young lad of 29 at the time, had just recently moved back to Houston, and was living in a loft downtown.

That particular apartment right there.

I was also spending a LOT of time hanging out at various bars and clubs back then.  My most frequent haunt, however…

Tanqueray and tonics abound.


The entirety of Main Street was packed with throngs of partygoers during the Super Bowl, but because I was a regular the velvet rope parted and I was ensconced within the safe confines of Dean’s night after night, watching all the madness unfold outside.

13 years later the idea of doing something like this sounds like torture.  Blaring music, lines for the bathroom, 20 minutes waits for $10 drinks, shoulder to shoulder with seedy professionals on their annual Super Bowl vacation and their drunk and oblivious millennial prey.

No thank you.

I’m perfectly happy to drop by my Dad’s place and watch the game over there.  And I wouldn’t go back to that party life if you paid me a suitable midlife crisis salary.

The thing is, I’m not sure if younger me would’ve pitied me in this…

He might’ve.

But hey, what the hell does that kid know?


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