I trust you all know what this is - when inclement weather would confine us kids to the cottage in Maine (such as a rainy or foggy week) cabin fever sets in. There are just so many jigsaw puzzles or monopoly games that can distract. After a day or two, you then go sort of crazy. In retrospect, I genuinely regret what my mother had to put up with.
In the case of my Sainted wife, she can hold out for, oh, an hour or so before going bonkers. What you might call a low cabin fever threshold.
What I didn't know is that cats get it, too. Confined to the house because of the frigid weather this week, Tiger the Wonder cat has developed his own form of cabin fever.
I don't think I have ever seen a cat run around the house as fast (well, he IS a Wonder cat). In addition, there is the jumping from piece of furniture to piece of furniture, jumping on top of the fridge and then back down again, waiting for me to make a sudden move and starting the whirlwind all over again.
It is great fun, but after about 15 minutes, he disappears - probably beaming back to his home planet to rejuvenate.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Little Screamers
You can imagine how well we curmudgeons take to children in any shape or form. Children are to be seen and not heard.
Last night I treated my Sainted wife to a local upscale restaurant (often called "diners" here in NJ) for dinner. They are convivial places, the food choices (and, more importantly, the prices) unbeatable, and the service quick and efficient. And it may surprise you to learn, not at all noisy - actually quieter than some of those fancy new upscale restaurants.
Except last night. Some idiot had brought a very small kid (like less than 1 or something) that decided to start crying. Very loudly. Instead of removing the offending creature to the outside, the mother walked around the restaurant cradling the damned thing so that every diner could hear it scream up close and personal.
Where do these self-centered idiots get off ruining the time of an entire restaurant's complement of diners because they thought it was appropriate to bring a small child to a public restaurant? And then do nothing to take the noisome thing away?
Restaurants often have one of those "no shoes, no shirt, no service" signs. They need a "no screaming kids" sign, too.
Last night I treated my Sainted wife to a local upscale restaurant (often called "diners" here in NJ) for dinner. They are convivial places, the food choices (and, more importantly, the prices) unbeatable, and the service quick and efficient. And it may surprise you to learn, not at all noisy - actually quieter than some of those fancy new upscale restaurants.
Except last night. Some idiot had brought a very small kid (like less than 1 or something) that decided to start crying. Very loudly. Instead of removing the offending creature to the outside, the mother walked around the restaurant cradling the damned thing so that every diner could hear it scream up close and personal.
Where do these self-centered idiots get off ruining the time of an entire restaurant's complement of diners because they thought it was appropriate to bring a small child to a public restaurant? And then do nothing to take the noisome thing away?
Restaurants often have one of those "no shoes, no shirt, no service" signs. They need a "no screaming kids" sign, too.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
State of the Curmudgeon Union
Last night, I had the choice of watching the State of the Union Address or a Lewis Black comedy special.
Curmudgeons being what we are, Lewis Black won out hands down. Political theater has many amusing moments and the State of the Union Address can be wonderfully entertaining, watching grown men jump up at odd moments to cheer and applaud, Supreme Court members doze off or Bobby Jindal speak.
Lewis Black has the advantage of being more pointed, more consistently informative, and funny to boot.
Much better way to spend one's time.
Curmudgeons being what we are, Lewis Black won out hands down. Political theater has many amusing moments and the State of the Union Address can be wonderfully entertaining, watching grown men jump up at odd moments to cheer and applaud, Supreme Court members doze off or Bobby Jindal speak.
Lewis Black has the advantage of being more pointed, more consistently informative, and funny to boot.
Much better way to spend one's time.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Hoist On Your Own Petard
Well, I've been hoist on my own petard once again. I'm sure you, dear readers, know the actual meaning of this phrase, so you realize it is not a good feeling.
I have, since the regrettable Who-caused wall-mounted plate self immolation event, taken steps to prevent future casualties. Especially those my Sainted wife will attempt to pin on me, rather than the music that caused the mayhem.
Well, despite my best efforts (silicon sticky feet on cherished vessels atop my 4-foot speakers), one of the damned "cherished vessels" committed harakiri today.
It leapt the 4' to its death, all my well-intended fixes aside. Am I to blame? Well, I guess one could question why I've got handsome seashell-filled "cherished vessels" atop said speakers...
Nonetheless, this time, I'm leaning towards blaming the Traveling Wilburys. Or CCR's Suzie Q. Or Jimi Hendrix, my go-to guy for music that messes with the entire space-time continuum. They all have bass that can dislodge anything.
I am hoist, nevertheless.
I have, since the regrettable Who-caused wall-mounted plate self immolation event, taken steps to prevent future casualties. Especially those my Sainted wife will attempt to pin on me, rather than the music that caused the mayhem.
Well, despite my best efforts (silicon sticky feet on cherished vessels atop my 4-foot speakers), one of the damned "cherished vessels" committed harakiri today.
It leapt the 4' to its death, all my well-intended fixes aside. Am I to blame? Well, I guess one could question why I've got handsome seashell-filled "cherished vessels" atop said speakers...
Nonetheless, this time, I'm leaning towards blaming the Traveling Wilburys. Or CCR's Suzie Q. Or Jimi Hendrix, my go-to guy for music that messes with the entire space-time continuum. They all have bass that can dislodge anything.
I am hoist, nevertheless.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Thermodynamics
Boy did I hate thermodynamics class in college. Absolutely hated it. Worse, you had to take 2 for any sort of engineering degree.
Worse yet, they were run by the most arrogant professor I had ever encountered and the type that made you buy HIS book on thermodynamics.
He would start each lecture with the statement "you will recall from our last class..." Well, frankly, I would NEVER recall a damn thing from the last class, having feverishly tried to put it out of my mind, so each lecture always started off on the wrong foot.
His exams terrified me. I will never forget his comment on one answer I had attempted: "incomprehensible."
Of course it was - it described perfectly my thoughts on thermodynamics.
Worse yet, they were run by the most arrogant professor I had ever encountered and the type that made you buy HIS book on thermodynamics.
He would start each lecture with the statement "you will recall from our last class..." Well, frankly, I would NEVER recall a damn thing from the last class, having feverishly tried to put it out of my mind, so each lecture always started off on the wrong foot.
His exams terrified me. I will never forget his comment on one answer I had attempted: "incomprehensible."
Of course it was - it described perfectly my thoughts on thermodynamics.
Friday, January 24, 2014
The Spanish Inquisition
Let me be perfectly honest here - I hated history class in high school. When you are 14 or so with hormones running amok, the last thing that could possibly interest you was history.
Before the history channel turned into a duck dynasty imitator however, suddenly history came alive.
There are many sad chapters of colonial European history, but Spain takes the cake in holding a special place as an unconscionably evil entity. In addition to carefully introducing diseases to the New World while they stole riches away, they also had some fun turning on their own right at home.
The Monty Python routines on the Spanish Inquisition would have made history interesting even to a 14-year old.
Before the history channel turned into a duck dynasty imitator however, suddenly history came alive.
There are many sad chapters of colonial European history, but Spain takes the cake in holding a special place as an unconscionably evil entity. In addition to carefully introducing diseases to the New World while they stole riches away, they also had some fun turning on their own right at home.
The Monty Python routines on the Spanish Inquisition would have made history interesting even to a 14-year old.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Engineers
As a curmudgeon, I'm pretty pissed off about this. As an engineer, even more so.
Our nation, in its infinite lack of wisdom, cherishes useless sport "stars", politicians, actors and such over the engineers that make and keep everything working. Without whose hard work, your life would be hell.
Everything. Roads, buildings, power systems, plumbing systems, water systems, must I go on?
And whose name gets put on a bridge or road? Some idiot politician. I live near NYC, which appears to have an unnatural affinity for the Kennedys - despite them being Massachusetts based. At least Florida had the good sense to return to Cape Canaveral.
It is time to recognize the hard-working smart people who make things actually work - not the glitzy technocrats so much in current favor - the real geniuses keeping our comfy lives going.
Not glamorous, but you would die within days without them.
Our nation, in its infinite lack of wisdom, cherishes useless sport "stars", politicians, actors and such over the engineers that make and keep everything working. Without whose hard work, your life would be hell.
Everything. Roads, buildings, power systems, plumbing systems, water systems, must I go on?
And whose name gets put on a bridge or road? Some idiot politician. I live near NYC, which appears to have an unnatural affinity for the Kennedys - despite them being Massachusetts based. At least Florida had the good sense to return to Cape Canaveral.
It is time to recognize the hard-working smart people who make things actually work - not the glitzy technocrats so much in current favor - the real geniuses keeping our comfy lives going.
Not glamorous, but you would die within days without them.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Snow Forts
It is snowing to beat the band here. And with temperatures expected to be astonishingly frigid, it appears the snow will be around for awhile.
As kids, we loved making snow forts. Seems we had more big snows back then. These days, we're lucky if we get enough snowfall to built a mini-fort for Tiger, the Wonder cat.
Although New Jersey street crews are top-notch at getting things back to normal, people need to let them do their work. The problems are the idiot drivers who can't wait for the plows. As a curmudgeon, and with a $70,000 car to protect, I just hunker down. I have my delicious Banquet frozen dinners, and a SPAM can always in the cupboard.
And Murder, She Wrote reruns.
A faultless plan, no?
As kids, we loved making snow forts. Seems we had more big snows back then. These days, we're lucky if we get enough snowfall to built a mini-fort for Tiger, the Wonder cat.
Although New Jersey street crews are top-notch at getting things back to normal, people need to let them do their work. The problems are the idiot drivers who can't wait for the plows. As a curmudgeon, and with a $70,000 car to protect, I just hunker down. I have my delicious Banquet frozen dinners, and a SPAM can always in the cupboard.
And Murder, She Wrote reruns.
A faultless plan, no?
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
British Cars Redux
Last August I mentioned that big brother Buzz had one of those British Rover things. True to British motoring quality, his was a mere "Rove" because the last "R" had blown off.
Back then I mentioned some of its faults (underpowered and such). I didn't go into detail, but it had many more. For example, the window controls were oddly placed on the center console, unlike any vehicle manufactured since they were invented. Odder yet, they were BEHIND where normal ergonomics would expect one to find them. It also had a fancy suspension that would let it lower to provide easier access, sort of like NYC buses.
Of course, being a British motoring product, the lowering feature was about the first thing to go.
And recently, Buzz was driving it home after some mechanical work on it and IT CAUGHT FIRE. When was the last time you heard about a car catching fire? A passing motorist actually filmed it and loaded the video to YouTube.
British cars. Endlessly entertaining.
Back then I mentioned some of its faults (underpowered and such). I didn't go into detail, but it had many more. For example, the window controls were oddly placed on the center console, unlike any vehicle manufactured since they were invented. Odder yet, they were BEHIND where normal ergonomics would expect one to find them. It also had a fancy suspension that would let it lower to provide easier access, sort of like NYC buses.
Of course, being a British motoring product, the lowering feature was about the first thing to go.
And recently, Buzz was driving it home after some mechanical work on it and IT CAUGHT FIRE. When was the last time you heard about a car catching fire? A passing motorist actually filmed it and loaded the video to YouTube.
British cars. Endlessly entertaining.
Dark Nights
As your intrepid reporter, and a curmudgeon to boot, it is my duty to call attention to all things endangered.
Flashlights. They were made of really stern metal. You pounded as many D-cells as you could into them and they worked for months.
You could also use them to knock miscreants over the head as appropriate, that heavy metal casing and all those D-cells being involved.
Today? Wimp stuff galore. LED flashlights only require tiny little bitty batteries. You can hardly conk a cat with them. Trust me - I've tried.
Where are my D cells when I need them?
Flashlights. They were made of really stern metal. You pounded as many D-cells as you could into them and they worked for months.
You could also use them to knock miscreants over the head as appropriate, that heavy metal casing and all those D-cells being involved.
Today? Wimp stuff galore. LED flashlights only require tiny little bitty batteries. You can hardly conk a cat with them. Trust me - I've tried.
Where are my D cells when I need them?
Friday, January 17, 2014
Shoveling Stones
I shoveled stones yesterday.
You, dear readers, are crying you SHOVELED stones?
It is so. As part of keeping our driveway safe for passage, our snowplow guy cleans the thing.
As our driveway is a white gravel thing (quite striking - I recommend it) he naturally plows a lot of our precious stones into snow banks, the street and all.
When things thaw, as they are wont to do, nature reveals just how many of our sacred, white, expensive designer driveway stones were plowed to the curb. And nature throws them down the street.
My Sainted wife took on the mission: shovel. I, on the other hand, thought a good Matlock would come in handy. Guess who won.
And so: I shoveled stones yesterday. Life doesn't get much better.
You, dear readers, are crying you SHOVELED stones?
It is so. As part of keeping our driveway safe for passage, our snowplow guy cleans the thing.
As our driveway is a white gravel thing (quite striking - I recommend it) he naturally plows a lot of our precious stones into snow banks, the street and all.
When things thaw, as they are wont to do, nature reveals just how many of our sacred, white, expensive designer driveway stones were plowed to the curb. And nature throws them down the street.
My Sainted wife took on the mission: shovel. I, on the other hand, thought a good Matlock would come in handy. Guess who won.
And so: I shoveled stones yesterday. Life doesn't get much better.
Doghouse
Let me be honest here - I have certain behaviors that rather annoy my Sainted wife. I suspect all husbands are fully capable of annoying their wives. And do. Excessively.
"Annoying one's wife" is a completely subjective matter. For me, it is playing music a tad too loud,"tad" being according to my definition, not hers - hence the potential for the "annoying" part.
So I play music very, very loudly.
She objects rather strenuously. So into the doghouse I go. Happily, my house is free of doghouses. The basement serves. Of course, I have equipped it with a very powerful stereo, so I fire that sucker up to just to annoy her.
I'm evil.
"Annoying one's wife" is a completely subjective matter. For me, it is playing music a tad too loud,"tad" being according to my definition, not hers - hence the potential for the "annoying" part.
So I play music very, very loudly.
She objects rather strenuously. So into the doghouse I go. Happily, my house is free of doghouses. The basement serves. Of course, I have equipped it with a very powerful stereo, so I fire that sucker up to just to annoy her.
I'm evil.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
The Elevator Guy
You kids, along with many other nifty things, have probably never encountered an elevator guy. Like pumping gas here in NJ, elevators once required highly trained operators. They had a fancy control with three whole positions: up, down and stop.
Then there were the doors. To protect passengers, there was a flexible steel scissor affair between you and the floors flashing by - not a solid door as there is now. Any hapless soul could reach through it and have their hand torn off.
The thing terrified Moms.
Then there were the doors. To protect passengers, there was a flexible steel scissor affair between you and the floors flashing by - not a solid door as there is now. Any hapless soul could reach through it and have their hand torn off.
The thing terrified Moms.
Cops
As a curmudgeon, I am a fan of the police. The entire Curmudgeon Societé Generale is as well.
In my little town, they are sort of Barney Fifes types.
When we were robbed some years ago, the hot-shot detective was inspecting the front yard tree next door.
I live on a small street. A U-shaped thing off the beaten path with all of 12 houses. Last year, we were having work done and the contractor needed my garage, so I parked the car on the street.
We have one of those "no parking on the street after dark" thingies, so I called the cops to inform them. They asked what is your license plate number? I haven't know that for years, leasing a car in all.
So I kindly informed the officer - it is a goddam small street and it will be the only BMW on it.
He responded, what is your license plate number?
I just hung up.
In my little town, they are sort of Barney Fifes types.
When we were robbed some years ago, the hot-shot detective was inspecting the front yard tree next door.
I live on a small street. A U-shaped thing off the beaten path with all of 12 houses. Last year, we were having work done and the contractor needed my garage, so I parked the car on the street.
We have one of those "no parking on the street after dark" thingies, so I called the cops to inform them. They asked what is your license plate number? I haven't know that for years, leasing a car in all.
So I kindly informed the officer - it is a goddam small street and it will be the only BMW on it.
He responded, what is your license plate number?
I just hung up.
There Is Something called "nroff"
nroff was (and one can only fear - still is) a UNIX word processing doohickey (if we must be technical). As Ma Bell, we funded Bell Labs, and as Bell Labs, the "best and brightest" occasionally produced something.
As users of UNIX, one of their more - or less - you properly surrounded the actual WORDS you wanted in your document with the precisely correct nroff commands (in concert with its evil sibling troff), you would get a beautiful printed document.
We take "a beautiful printed document" as granted in this day and age but back then, mastering this stuff (as ever, invented by Bell Labs, where reality rarely - if ever - touched the real world), each document printed correctly was a cause for celebration amongst us mortal worker bees.
Anxious workers would cluster around the only printer on the floor (this was WAY before HP invented obscenely expensive ink for their cheap printers) and we would watch as our names would print just before some indecipherable collection of letters would print, thereby identifying the idiot who hadn't mastered nroff.
Good times, good times.
As users of UNIX, one of their more - or less - you properly surrounded the actual WORDS you wanted in your document with the precisely correct nroff commands (in concert with its evil sibling troff), you would get a beautiful printed document.
We take "a beautiful printed document" as granted in this day and age but back then, mastering this stuff (as ever, invented by Bell Labs, where reality rarely - if ever - touched the real world), each document printed correctly was a cause for celebration amongst us mortal worker bees.
Anxious workers would cluster around the only printer on the floor (this was WAY before HP invented obscenely expensive ink for their cheap printers) and we would watch as our names would print just before some indecipherable collection of letters would print, thereby identifying the idiot who hadn't mastered nroff.
Good times, good times.
Free
This is a term that captures the attention of curmudgeons everywhere. Recently, under the guise of doing research for the Curmudgeon Society Generalé, I took advantage of a free 30 days of Amazon Prime.
Free. What could go wrong? Well, actually, nothing. A nice window into what Amazon offers. Regrettably, not much different than what Netflix or Hulu offers.
But, since I had a 30-day free trial, I looked about their offerings and came upon a movie series long lost. For good reasons. Called the "Mr. Wong" series, it starred Boris Karloff as a Chinese sleuth.
Yes, you read that right. As if Sidney Toler, that most Chinese of WASP actors playing Charlie Chan wasn't enough, Monogram Pictures recruited Frankenstein's monster for their sleuth.
I'm a curmudgeon. 30 days of free anything is a call to all curmudgeons. 30 days of Mr. Wong turns out to be a penal sentence.
Free. What could go wrong? Well, actually, nothing. A nice window into what Amazon offers. Regrettably, not much different than what Netflix or Hulu offers.
But, since I had a 30-day free trial, I looked about their offerings and came upon a movie series long lost. For good reasons. Called the "Mr. Wong" series, it starred Boris Karloff as a Chinese sleuth.
Yes, you read that right. As if Sidney Toler, that most Chinese of WASP actors playing Charlie Chan wasn't enough, Monogram Pictures recruited Frankenstein's monster for their sleuth.
I'm a curmudgeon. 30 days of free anything is a call to all curmudgeons. 30 days of Mr. Wong turns out to be a penal sentence.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Art
"Bad art only masks the good art." I actually read these words recently. Probably in that most useless of publications, the NY Times magazine. What a pretentious load of unmitigated crap. Good art is masked only because one can't, in any way, shape, or form describe why it differs from bad art.
By its very definition, art is in the eye of the beholder.
All art appreciation is a matter of individual interpretation - if you are saying anything about a piece of "art" you're gonna make up whatever you can to make the "art" match your expectations. This is, at its roots, drivel, and sadly, worshipped by pretentious art people everywhere.
Can you imagine a college-level degree in art, art history or art appreciation and then actually expecting ANYONE to pay you money for the nonsense you know?
Good luck.
By its very definition, art is in the eye of the beholder.
All art appreciation is a matter of individual interpretation - if you are saying anything about a piece of "art" you're gonna make up whatever you can to make the "art" match your expectations. This is, at its roots, drivel, and sadly, worshipped by pretentious art people everywhere.
Can you imagine a college-level degree in art, art history or art appreciation and then actually expecting ANYONE to pay you money for the nonsense you know?
Good luck.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Cold
I live in New Jersey. It is never really, really cold here. Except today. It is my understanding that Australia is hogging all the heat.
It is 2 degrees out here. And windy. And I'm supposed to put the trash out (as ever, apparently the man's job). Big surprise - I froze.
It was so cold, I thawed out in the garage - an entirely uninsulated area apart from the house was like a warming station.
Cold. Think any Rodney Dangerfield bit cold. Unpleasant cold. Stop this cold.
Yes I thawed...but not without comment.
I'm a curmudgeon dammit. I comment.
It is 2 degrees out here. And windy. And I'm supposed to put the trash out (as ever, apparently the man's job). Big surprise - I froze.
It was so cold, I thawed out in the garage - an entirely uninsulated area apart from the house was like a warming station.
Cold. Think any Rodney Dangerfield bit cold. Unpleasant cold. Stop this cold.
Yes I thawed...but not without comment.
I'm a curmudgeon dammit. I comment.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
The Hallmark Channel
If you have a TV, you've no doubt run across the Hallmark Channel. Heartwarming, family-friendly programming to cuddle up with by the fire.
The Hallmark "Hall of Fame" collection defines this dream world. Drippy made-for-TV drivel filmed for people living in fantasyland. Sort of the Waltons TV show on steroids - enough syrup to choke a horse.
Made-for-TV movies on Syfy are more curmudgeon speed - plenty of cheesy special effects, otherworldly illusions, aliens, giant beasts (and hopefully giant breasts, let's be honest), entirely predictable plots - the stuff that makes for good TV.
Heartwarming? We curmudgeons cringe at the very thought.
The Hallmark "Hall of Fame" collection defines this dream world. Drippy made-for-TV drivel filmed for people living in fantasyland. Sort of the Waltons TV show on steroids - enough syrup to choke a horse.
Made-for-TV movies on Syfy are more curmudgeon speed - plenty of cheesy special effects, otherworldly illusions, aliens, giant beasts (and hopefully giant breasts, let's be honest), entirely predictable plots - the stuff that makes for good TV.
Heartwarming? We curmudgeons cringe at the very thought.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Technology Running Amok
Here's one for the books. Or user manuals.
I'm innocently taking my Sainted wife out for dinner last night (the details of the route to McDonald's are not germane here), and suddenly my car music mutes and a disembodied female voice (NOT belonging to my wife) pipes up and says to turn left at the next intersection.
The car's GPS system was not engaged, and the disembodied voice was not speaking with the Teutonic certainty that the Germans had engineered into my car, so it couldn't be that. What the heck was going on?
After Miss Disembodied issued her next command, I finally realized that I had apparently left Google Maps open on my phone when I had been asking about directions to another destination (Wendy's) just before we left home. It was Google's turn-by-turn lady popping up on the car's Bluetooth connection!
Nearly blew my brain.
I'm going to have some fun on my next trip - I'm going to turn BOTH ladies on and let them fight it out as I drive. Let's see who picks the better route.
Or whether I drive into a handy tree amidst the confusion of directions.
I'm innocently taking my Sainted wife out for dinner last night (the details of the route to McDonald's are not germane here), and suddenly my car music mutes and a disembodied female voice (NOT belonging to my wife) pipes up and says to turn left at the next intersection.
The car's GPS system was not engaged, and the disembodied voice was not speaking with the Teutonic certainty that the Germans had engineered into my car, so it couldn't be that. What the heck was going on?
After Miss Disembodied issued her next command, I finally realized that I had apparently left Google Maps open on my phone when I had been asking about directions to another destination (Wendy's) just before we left home. It was Google's turn-by-turn lady popping up on the car's Bluetooth connection!
Nearly blew my brain.
I'm going to have some fun on my next trip - I'm going to turn BOTH ladies on and let them fight it out as I drive. Let's see who picks the better route.
Or whether I drive into a handy tree amidst the confusion of directions.
Friday, January 3, 2014
What, ANOTHER New Year?
A new year. We curmudgeons yawn. The years creep along - not unlike us.
I used to host a rather large New Year's party (well, I sort of appeared at my Sainted wife's said party..) and I would make a real big deal of the New Year - champagne, helium balloons, noise makers, kissing every female in attendance: you know, the usual.
These days? If I stay awake until midnight, it's a New Year's miracle.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
When Retrospectives Turn On You
PBS has periodically run music retrospectives of early rock music from the 60s. For most curmudgeons, that is the last time music was good. So when they recently advertised a new one, I dutifully taped it.
I was expecting a series of vintage videos of the Kinks, the Zombies, the Drifters, Petula Clark and others who appeared on the Ed Sullivan show or Dick Clark, etc. What I was NOT expecting was those very same groups now on stage in their 70s.
I was horrified - not only were these 70-year olds rocking on stage, but the audience was composed of really old people too. Pudgy, bald oldsters rocking and weaving to the music. Frankly, it was quite revolting.
It was then that the appalling reality of it all hit me - the audience was essentially ME. I nearly passed out at the very horror of it. I had to turn it off - it was too painful to watch.
I can't look THAT old. I can't.
I won't.
I was expecting a series of vintage videos of the Kinks, the Zombies, the Drifters, Petula Clark and others who appeared on the Ed Sullivan show or Dick Clark, etc. What I was NOT expecting was those very same groups now on stage in their 70s.
I was horrified - not only were these 70-year olds rocking on stage, but the audience was composed of really old people too. Pudgy, bald oldsters rocking and weaving to the music. Frankly, it was quite revolting.
It was then that the appalling reality of it all hit me - the audience was essentially ME. I nearly passed out at the very horror of it. I had to turn it off - it was too painful to watch.
I can't look THAT old. I can't.
I won't.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
There Are Words To This Song?
As a certified curmudgeon, I never listen to the words in songs. This absolutely confounds my Sainted wife who follows the words in a song as if they meant something.
Me? Words? Meaning? Give me a break. Pounding rhythm: music contract sealed.
Hence the Who pounding out Baba O'Reilly with great vigor and plates (on their own recognizance) zipping off walls. Jimi Hendrix soars, the Who mount a challenge to house builders, Paul McCartney rattles the stemware - all stunning without words needed.
Women. All those words.
Me? Words? Meaning? Give me a break. Pounding rhythm: music contract sealed.
Hence the Who pounding out Baba O'Reilly with great vigor and plates (on their own recognizance) zipping off walls. Jimi Hendrix soars, the Who mount a challenge to house builders, Paul McCartney rattles the stemware - all stunning without words needed.
Women. All those words.
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