Last night I went to the Crocodile to see Hello From Waveland. During the beginning of their set, four 50-something couples, the men dressed in beige blazers, the women dressed in nice evening clothes, walked in, lit up smokes and started shaking their hips. I realized they weren’t from around here when one approached the bar and said, “Two beer. How much?”

Their otherness stood out like a turd in a punchbowl — their attire, their age, their sophistication, mostly their comfortableness with all this distance. I heard later they were Spanish, and their chain smoking confirmed it. Did they read about the Crocodile in a tourism book as somewhere young, hip and not-to-miss? I couldn’t stop watching them — they were having fun — they watched the entire set and took pictures of themselves dancing and gesturing in front of the band. I found myself culturally jealous. The members of my Seattle culture were dressed in black with arms crossed wearing self-conscious scowls on their pale faces. The Spaniards were there to have fun.