Last year I was in the middle of enjoying Bowling For Soup's set at Movin' On when I was struck in the back of the head by about the 134th crowd surfer of the night. Begrudgingly, I put my hands up to help pass along the drunken moron who was fast approaching.

While passing this person, I realized that my hands were not touching denim or cotton or even polyester -- it was something very soft and a little squishy.

I looked up and was disgusted to discover I was face-to-ass with some twit wearing a miniskirt with only a thong underneath it.

She was laughing and yelling and acting like she was having the time of her life as hundreds of strangers grabbed her bare butt cheeks.

I couldn't get over the fact that this girl put herself in the position to be fondled by so many random people.

I also couldn't get over the fact that she so blatantly put everyone in a position of "touch my bare rumpus or drop me on my head." People who didn't want to put their hands on her bum were faced with the likelihood that she'd crash to the ground without their support.

A few songs later, I was still muttering to myself as this girl was yet again passed to me.

That was twice that I had touched this girl's behind and I didn't even know her name.

I felt like I was some sort of Peeping Tom or stalker because I clearly had the upper hand in this situation - pun somewhat intended.

This episode came at a point in my life when my hatred for crowd surfing was already at its peak.

I had been kicked in the head several times and had a few fat people dropped on me.

This was merely the event that pushed me over the edge.

I stood there reeling until I suddenly realized why I was so irritated. Danny Glover popped into my head and wheezed, "I'm getting too old for this shit."

There could be no other explanation. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but maybe I had outgrown my days as a wild concert-goer. Maybe my days of moshing and screaming until I lost my voice were finished.

That night, I accepted that I was, in fact, too old for my former concert shenanigans.

I went to a few shows after Movin' On where I danced and sang along, but didn't get rowdy.

Last week, I went to see Maroon 5 at the Bryce Jordan Center.

I settled into my seat on the floor as people filled in the seats around me.

I tried to shut out the 12-year-old girls' incessant shrieking, but my annoyance with it served as a constant reminder of how old I felt in concert years.

Maroon 5 took the stage and after being yelled at by a few ushers and watching everyone be contained to standing directly in front of their seats, I felt something. I felt angry. I got even angrier when I realized that none of the old farts in front of me were dancing or singing.

They weren't even tapping their feet or nodding their heads. Is this the fate I've accepted by declaring myself too old to get rowdy at a show?

I started to seriously reconsider the possibility of being out of my concert prime.

At this point, I became irritated that there were seats on the floor.

Everybody knows that the floor -- sometimes referred to as the pit -- is a section reserved for those who want to dance and/or mosh. There should not be chairs on the floor - only energetically moving fans.

The first time Adam Levine yelled something profane into the mic, I remembered getting elbowed in the ear while I moshed in the pit at a Disturbed show. Being close enough to see the giant hole in the crotch of his blue jeans made me remember being so close to Godsmack that I almost passed out when the pyrotechnics went off.

I remembered all the shows I had left hoarse, drenched in sweat -- most of which was not mine -- and feeling like there was nothing in the world better than a great concert.

Being forced to stand in neat little rows on the floor of the Bryce Jordan Center while ushers frantically ran around scolding people with their flashlights made me realize something.

I'm not too old to jump around like an idiot. And I'm not to old to have a good time at a concert.

What finalized this realization was when I saw a woman run up to the fourth row, where she plugged her ears and retreated.

The old adage goes that if the music's too loud, you're too old.

I must have a couple of concert-going years left in me, because the volume sounded fine to me.