Saturday Night

The party night, right? So, where's the party? where's the place to go and shoot the shit without the drama? Where's the place around the corner, down the street, in town, that you can't wait to get back to next weekend? Whatever happened to "the spot"? That one place everyone knew to go to, with new faces mixing with the old, so it would forever remain fresh with the same old rhythmic flow?

I remember when there was an unspoken agreement between friends as to when the party would meet and get reacquainted once again. I remember when there was a house, a park, a block that served as headquarters to our impromptu parties that took place on every sabbath. I remember parties that were never known as parties until they were recalled later. The sort of parties that were filled with the familiar faces, carried no surprises, yet were entertaining every time.

Interestingly, Saturday nights have not changed. "The spot" still exists, but all luster is lost. The parties are still poppin', but they're not mine. Suddenly the crowd looks young and their game is old. What they're after is no longer what I'm after. Drunken lust no longer appeals to my maturing sensibilities. My palate has been refined by meaningful verbal exchange, and deep, mutual understanding of the soul's condition. No longer can I survive on weak pickup lines and mindless gyration for gyration's sake.

I've grown. What I need is a renaissance: to redefine the Saturday night experience in terms conducive to a mature man's liking. Do I like to party? Hell yeah. Only now I do it with a game of Texas Hold 'Em or perhaps a classic, like Scrabble. I no longer need a room full of strangers and a paper cup full of beer to convince myself that I'm having a good time. Individuality reigns supreme; I've abandoned anonymity in favor of a sharper image of myself. Though I look back on those carefree days with fond memories, I happily embrace the new Saturday Night.