I miss the days when I could sing a song and all the people in my vicinity would know it. Today, at work, an ABBA song started playing over the system and not one of the four co-workers I was with knew who sang the song. One of them had heard it before but said it was by Ace of Base. Close but... not really. By the way, the song was Lay All Your Love On Me.

I remember when It's Raining Men would play in a club and all the men in the club would go nuts. Now, all the older men in the club go nuts. Half of the younger ones have no clue why. I get excited and sing along to the song, even today. I really got excited today when Fame, by Irene Cara, came over the store's music system. I sang the entire song out loud. This time, at least three of the four co-workers knew the song. One new all the words (but only because he was a theatre major).

I don't think the younger gay generation has music like this anymore. They have their own anthems but not happy ones. It's all brooding and reflective and, well, not very joyous. None of it seems celebratory to me. The beat is slow and plodding. Or fast and erratic. Or maybe it's just me.

I no longer am one of the young ones. My youth has officially passed me. It's not a state of mind. You may be as young as you feel but, honestly, you really aren't. Try singing a song from your heydey and see how many of people actually know it. Go to a store and try putting on the latest trends; notice how you silly you look because you do look silly. Try staying out until 4:00am; see if you can get up at 7:00am to head for work. Not so easy anymore.

Try turning 36. Try having people tell you that it's only just a number. Try not to slap them. Thirty-six. That was the age my Mom was when I first asked her how old she was. She told me not to tell anyone. Now, I will be that old. Don't tell anyone: Youth has officially passed me.

Later.  ¶ 11:55 PM