Apparently, My Groupie Days are Over

Once upon a time in America, I used to date a bass player. It was an idyllic time in my life. His band had a practice space where we could go undisturbed to feely imbibe in things that minors really aren't supposed to imbibe in. Mainly Ice House. I wish I was kidding. I had a choice corner-of-the-sofa seat which served as a nice place to perch prettily. I knew all the words to all their songs and went to every gig (when I wasn't up at school). It was awesome. I was young, I was thin(ner), I didn't care about much, and I had my whole life ahead of me. Now, those times have passed. I'm IN a band now. I no longer date the bass player (he's since married and living in the suburbs), and it has become clear to me that I am, in fact, becoming rather curmudgeonly (sic?) towards those younger than I.
Case in point:
So, Friday night I went out with my good friend MC (the drummer for the aforementioned band) to a little bar called The Underground. It's a pretty cool little style-non-specific bar/venue whose clientele is pretty much determined by the band or bands that happen to be playing that evening.

Judging by the Jimbay drum on stage, we were going to be treated to some kind of mellow-rock-jam-band type situation. And we were. However, as the pretty competent, albeit young band played their set, here's what I ascertained.

-They were no older than 24 and more than likely home from college. This was determined by the presence of parents, older siblings and, insert fanfare please:
-College Band Groupies: their 21 year old, size 2 blonde girlfriends. You know these girls. They make a point of standing right up front in a little clutch giggling and knowing all the words to their boyfriends' awesome bands' songs. Trust me, as stated above, I know the whole "My boyfriend is totally in a band and he's like THE best bassist in the universe (actually, he was pretty excellent) and I am totally his girlfriend and I am so fucking cool I can't even stand myself" way of thinking.
Except I wasn't a size 2.
Nor was I blonde.
Nor was the band anything like the one I'm talking about.
Let's just say I wore a lot of flannel. And Doc Martens.

ANYWAY, moving on:

-These guys definitely listen to and are fans of OAR. Just because EVERYONE their age is.
-The presence of the aforementioned Jimbay and/or bongo or any other alternative percussive instrument=Deep, Meaningful, and Talented=Mom and Dad have lots of money=I go to U of I. (You should have seen some of the equipment these kids were packing.)
-The band was a band because it's cool to be a band. There was a definite lack of artistry with these guys. Technically, they were all very good. But that's where it stopped. It was kind of like watching the Yankees play. All extremely talented athletes part of a machine that is devoid of passion or love for the game.
-It was as if I had gone back in time and was sitting in some kid's basement watching some band with a whole bunch of popular kids from the public school and I was completely out of place. This became an issue later on in the evening.
- Whether they knew it or not, they sounded an awful lot like the Freddy Jones Band. I coined the term “Road Trip Rock” and “Epic Folk”, mimed a steering wheel and promptly told MC that:
“We’re on a journey to FOREVER!” In a daydream….
-I immediately hated the band at the point where the frontman got all VH1 Storyteller's on us and said:
"Yeah, uh, this song is called (Insert some Introspective Call-to-Action-Type-Title). It's a song I wrote... it's about gettin' old."
and then in the same breath he said:
"It's up on myspace right now."

The band finished and began their tear-down. MC and I laughed as they basically broke down what looked to be every single piece of equipment they owned.
"They don't understand the concept of 'bare bones'" yet." MC intoned. We then laughed and remembered the days of his band when they'd pack up the entire studio for gigs lasting no longer than a half hour.
"We were dumb."
I then started really feeling the effects of the high school basement party energy. Like I said before, I was never popular in high school and it's not a feeling I particularly enjoy. I was ready to leave. When the next band's 22 year old guitarist pulled out an Epiphone and allowed the sound engineer (theirs, not the bar's) make it sound like it was wrapped up in blankets and being swung over his head, I put my foot down.
We got the hell out of there.
It wasn't even midnight.

Goddamned kids with their video games and their sugar-drinks.