Never Have I Felt More Like A Fossil Than Watching Footage Of Da Baby’s Crazed Set At Miami’s Rolling Loud Festival

“You are not a dinosaur,” I whisper to myself in the mirror as I retrieve a fish oil capsule from my pleated IZOD khakis and refresh Phil Mickelson’s Twitter feed.

I close my eyes and think back to Bonnaroo 2015 when I slept for 9 hours in three days in the blistering Tennessee sun, a feat made more impressive by the fact that I’d yet to discover the benefits of drinking water. I transport back to the 4 am nights in Brooklyn warehouses sweating through hipster garb, grinding my teeth, bumming cigarettes, and making plans with people I never plan to see again.

The trance is snapped with my wife reminding me to take the salmon out of the freezer. I am throttled back to 2021, on the wrong side of 30, wondering if I buried that opportunistic, wide-eyed young man and ran him over with the new ride along lawnmower I won’t shut the fuck up about.

After reviewing footage on my Gateway desktop computer of the Da Baby concert at Rolling Loud Miami on Sunday (a work night), I’ve never felt more like a fossil. A dusty old relic deserved of nothing outside of a hefty pension and a warm glass of milk.

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When I was a youth, artists would typically interact with the crowd about their collective emotional state for the evening, and maybe compliment the region to connect with the clientele.

Da Baby is out here talking about autoimmune diseases and oral in the parking lot.

https://twitter.com/KingSeanSwae/status/1419479369366507520?s=20

I graze someone’s elbow on the subway and I have to switch carts. Can’t imagine I’d thrive in this cattle car, asking my neighbor to produce a vaccination receipt.

Artists nowadays cannot be one trick ponies. They need to sing, dance, and mimic public masturbation on stage to bolster clout and audience share.

All Ringo Starr needed to do was shake a tambourine before climbing back in his cage.

Far gone are the days of women throwing bras onstage that they purchased from the Macy’s catalog before the pages mysteriously started sticking to each other.

Where have I seen this before? Ah yes, the Bush concert.

“Excuse me, Mr. Baby. Do you mind if I cuddle up on one side of that bed, I’ve been thin on my 8 hours a night recently and this chamomile tea ain’t doing squat.”

Sleeping on the job. Kids today are so damn entitled.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to roll up this crisp dollar and snort a couple multivitamins. Forever Young.