PurpAnd

Last Saturday I got up early to go running. I did a quick loop into Downtown and back and the jog totalled nearly two miles. Not anywhere close to my maximum range, as exhibited by my half-marathon business last year, but good enough for me, especially with the hills. I kept the run short because I am not yet back into my training schedule and I still have some concern for my knees. Turns out that I was correct to have that concern.

Not more than a few hours later, my knees were screaming at me. At one point, they even ceased to move in protest for the rude awakening I had given them earlier that morning. I managed to do little else the rest of the afternoon except pound away at one of my work assignments. My incapacitation was evidence enough that the physical transformation to old man-ness was well on its way.

That evening, I had two tickets to see Jonathan Biss at the Herbst Theatre near City Hall. He’s a classical pianist, son to a famous violinist (so I read) and pretty much a rock star on the ivories. The wife was out that evening so I was free to hang out with whomever I chose and so I called my step-sister up to see if she wanted to party. I told her I had some totally sought after tickets to a fantastic show involving a piano virtuoso. I said there would be drinks and Ritchie Riches and we would hobnob with the elite.

She bought it. In fact, she offered to make dinner before hand. So we had a nice meal and then we were off to the show. Walking up to the theatre, my knees still hadn’t forgiven me and I was visibly gimpy. And to make it worse, we had two flights of stairs to climb before getting to our seats… which were four rows from the back. No matter though, the theatre is rather small and the seats were still pretty bitchin, although had I been much wider, they would have needed a crowbar to get me out.

After sitting there for no more than five minutes, we realized that we were easily the youngest people in our section and in a quick scan of the rest of the theatre, we guessed we were the youngest ones in attendance. That is until the pianist came out.

“What the heck? How old is that guy? He looks like he could be my age!” Nope. According to the program, he’s 28… a year younger than me. Ah hell, just what I need to make me feel even more like an unfun 20-something. Not only am I not out playing with kids my own age, the only one who is, (other than my sister whom I dragged to the show with me) is a musical genius who puts lazy asses like me to shame.

So there we were, sitting in tiny seats awating a classical piano performance from some punk kid on a Saturday night at 8pm. The emotional transformation to old man-ness was apparent and my day as a member of the elder generation was complete.

I have to admit, I did have a great time that night. If only it were considered cool for a 20-something to go to a piano recital… maybe I’ll set the trend.