A good indicator of aging is the noticeable decline of skills you used to perhaps take for granted (ie, when you're 90 and you discover you can't scale that indoor rock wall as gingerly as you used to).

So when you're in that cramped, speedy tunnel between your "no worries" 20s and "quit foolin' around" 30s, you tend to become hyper-sensitive to minute changes.

Your skinny-pants pile looms taller than in years past, you start actually getting colds, the three flights of stairs to your apartment are...steeper. That kind of thing.

People start saying, "Well, you ARE getting older."

And you think "Stop deflecting your anger at the world on me!" but you smile and say, "Must be it!" then walk away while fantasizing about drugging their coffee.

Maybe you even find yourself telling interns, "You know, when I was your age..." and you shudder at the realization that you've become THAT person. That I'm-older-and-wiser-and-will-find-every-opportunity-to-interject-my-aged-superiority person. That person who drove you nuts (you know, when you were younger).

I had such a third-life crisis this week when a friend of mine told me she'd be playing a gig at Blue this Thursday at 10:00 pm. Two thoughts emerged:

1. Nice! I've haven't been to Blue before.
2. 10:00 pm on a Thursday? That's so late!"

I caught myself before I bemoaned the time out loud. What am I, 80? 10:00 pm on a Thursday is early for young, sprightly folks like me. I can hack. I'll just need some coffee. Several potent cups of coffee.

But no, that'd be cheating. If I was going to reaffirm my youth I was going to do it the old-fashioned way - starting with happy hour.

I met some friends for drinks on the Novare Res patio (where we confirmed summer is, in fact, nearly dead) and then left to grab some grub.

Eventually we made our way to Blue (Read John Everett's descriptive Blue Bar Guide entry for details on the music-geared venue) in time to catch the last set from blueswoman Pam Baker.

My friend Andrea Delan took the small stage soon after. And at some point between a Tom Petty cover and one of Andrea's autobiographical originals it occurred to me: it's 11:30 pm on a Thursday, and I'm still awake.

Three cheers, I've done it! It's like college again! Only without the spilled drinks and trampy chicks!

I'm not old yet!

It's a small win in the battle against the inevitable, but I'll take it.

I'll also be longing for an afternoon nap in about 20 minutes.