Last night, it finally happened. I dreaded this day would come.

Before, it was only happening to other generations - people much older than me, or so I thought. I figured I was safe, buffered by "Brown Sugar" (Kahlua), "Like A Rock" (Chevrolet), "Dream On" (Buick), and other such sellouts.

But I never thought it would happen to me. That they would play one of those songs, you know, the ones that remind you of your youth; of making out with your first real boyfriend in his beat-up Pinto with no door, next to the Guadalupe, while the old river coots yelled "play some Stevie Ray, maaaaan!" and chuckled at your fogged-up windows.

But it's true. Last night, they played one of the songs that was burned into my life's soundtrack - Jane's Addiction's "Mountain Song" - during a cheesy beer commercial.

HOLY CRAPAPALOOZA.

O, my sweet Perry. How could you...? I knew you were working as a DJ and all, and that you cut off your dreads, maybe stopped wearing fishnets and stuff, and Dave - I know you had to drop a load for Carmen's next set of boobs and that klieg-like rock, but isn't this a little bit extreme? Coors Light, for crissake?! A light beer, even?

"Tap the Rockies"? Tap my aging ass for making me feel old, fucking Coors. I pee in your beer...! In fact, I pee just about anywhere now that I'm stress incontinent, thanks to you.

Now please pass my teeth and my bifocals, so I can watch my stories and later, Matlock.