There was a time when I spent more evenings than not in a bar, club, or other establishment of ill-repute. Waking up with a hangover and a pocketful of coins was the sign of a good night.

Now, with my inherently uncool clothes and flaring winter beard, it may just be impossible for me to muster even a tinge more anti-hip sentiment. I’m decidedly out of fashion, certified over-the-hill.

Certain friends, though, have a knack for yanking me temporarily away from the abyss of domestication. It is on these rare occasions that I emerge from hibernation and reintegrate with the now unfamiliar world of real-life young people. Saturday was such a night.

We started at the Lone Star, which is a Texas-themed franchise restaurant and bar — I should have declined participation based on that alone. Domestic beer was grudgingly (and rapidly) consumed to counteract the effects of a live 80’s band covering songs like “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. The median age was roughly 45, and I made the observation that I could easily “pick-up” — a horrible indictment of the quality of the place.

I was drunk.

We headed to our old stomping grounds on Elgin Street, settling at The Balcony (which used the be The Fire Station). After paying cover, our group of 10 brought the total number of patrons in the place to 15. Upon leaving we came upon a group who were mulling over the idea of paying cover to enter. I announced (rather loudly) that $10 would give them access to a crowd of 5 people — four servers and a customer. The doorman didn’t share my sense of humour.

I was very drunk.

When all else fails, one must head to the Market. After bobbing and weaving through the courtyard on York street we joined a huge lineup waiting to enter Foundation. We paid off the door man and bypassed the lineup altogether.

This place would have been a treat in my glory days, but I had about 10 years on pretty much everybody there. So, I found a spot at the bar, parked myself, drank, and felt self-conscious about my beard.

I was ludicrous drunk.

$300 in booze, one shawarma, and an $80 cab ride later, I arrived home. One more Saturday night.