So when did you become a curmudgeon?

I had a strange moment last night. I felt old.

I went to see a show last night at the illustrious Doug Fir. (It should be noted that I had a star sighting—none other than Shins front man James Mercer, OMG, OMG!! I’ve seen him many a time around Portland, but it’s the first time I got a good, close look. Let it be said that he is much shorter in person.)

I arrived right around 10:15 when Vampire Weekend, a four-man band of college-aged kids from New York City, started their set. I use the term “man” loosely—there is nothing grizzled or inherently cynical about this band. In fact, their youth was a force, their exuberance exuding from the stage. And that’s nothing to speak of the up-tempo poppiness of their music--

I think my favorite moment occurred when the keyboardist timidly approached the mic between songs and said, to enthusiastic cheers, “My Dad went to school in Oregon. In the 1960s…. Things were a little different back then, here in the 60s.” Their earnestness was so refreshing, it made me feel sort of old.

But hopeful, too.