Twenty-one - that's a great number, huh? 21 Jump Street. Blackjack. Divisible by seven and three. Oh yeah, AND it's the legal drinking age. Silly me, how could I forget? I just spent an entire weekend celebrating that number.
Not my own of course; the Lush is not one of those unfortunate seniors still stuck using a fake ID, but my friend (let's call him Jason) is. This seems to be the season of 21st birthdays - and, more importantly, 21st birthday celebrations. Fall semester is the time of year when the last few underage seniors finally hit that magical age, and the lucky juniors begin to. But 21st birthdays are never quite what we expect them to be, so from my ripe old age of 21 and a half, I have some observations to make.
We like to pull out all the stops for this special day. But despite all the big talk about doing 21 shots, keg stands, case races, Edward Fortyhands, Jell-o shots, chugging Jungle Juice or whatever your particular poison may be, almost nobody ends up being the Drinking Champ they have long-dreamt of becoming on the Big Day.
This is usually due to one major, rookie mistake - celebrating too much before the big day itself. I admit to this one myself. At my 21st birthday party back in April, which featured the Lush's very first keg stand, I was on top of the world. That is, until the next day - my actual birthday - when I couldn't get out of bed until 4 p.m. or stomach more than a couple of sips of my first legal drink at the Burren that night.
The Lush would not dare to suggest taking it easy at a 21st birthday party. On the contrary, the Lush's motto is go hard or go home ... just do it on the proper day, lest you ruin the event. A quote from my recently legal friend: "I got so much alcohol for my birthday, but now that I'm 21 I feel like I never want to drink again." Those words are like nails on a chalkboard to the Lush. Don't let this be you.
But this quote brings us to a peculiar point about turning 21: Everyone gives you alcohol. I am not trying to suggest that alcohol is not a good gift. Alcohol is a wonderful gift, but the most fun thing about turning 21 is being able to buy your booze yourself. Believe me, I'm six months in and it hasn't gotten old yet. So clearly the far superior present is cash with which to go BUY booze. Everyone needs to have the experience of hearing the scanner beep out Happy Birthday and getting their birthday present from Anne at Hillsides Liquors; I know I still cherish my Killian's pint glass.
But when it comes right down to it, there is one thing to realize about the 21st birthday: It changes us all. After a couple days, weeks or months of exploring all the legit bars that Boston has to offer (as opposed to whichever dive would actually accept your fake), you will realize that the last birthday that we all looked forward to in our youth has passed. Somewhere along the way we became twentysomethings. Not too far after is - horror of horrors - 30 (!).
The Lush is not here to wax nostalgic about how quickly time flies. To be honest, I just don't want to think about how fast it actually goes. It's no secret that most of us mellow with age, but I feel compelled to use this space to encourage all you Daily readers to make good use of your legal status.
Almost every 21-year old friend that I talked to said that they drink considerably less now that they are legal than they did while they were still in waiting. My 18-year-old self would certainly shake her head in disappointment to hear that I recently turned down a free shot of tequila, but that said, I think she would be proud to know that I absolutely killed in the Power Hour on Saturday - six beers up, six down, just like that.
But don't let that declined tequila shot fool you. I prefer beer - and lots of it - to the hard stuff. The Lush is out there representing the side of all that is good and drunk - "crunk," even -every weekend (although "weekend" is a loosely defined term in the Lush's vocabulary). What better to keep the Lush from working on her thesis than alcohol?
So to all the legal Jumbos out there, a plea, on behalf of our 18-year-old selves: take advantage of that valid ID and get out there (senior pub night tonight, anyone?). And to all those underage Jumbos, cherish this time... you'll miss those romantic days of pounding shots in your room before wandering the streets in a desperate search for alcohol every weekend. Yeah, you're right, that was a total lie. Don't worry, your time will come.
