Okay, I'm watching David Letterman, who books the most outrageous bands (I will NOT call them musicians, for the most part). Tonight it is "Glass Vegas", consisting of very strange geeky young men playing the same three chords accompanied by a lot of jumping up and down and doing a lot of pseudo-Who stuff, but with the addition of the now-obligatory fat goth chick on drums. What IS it with these fat goth chicks? I think I know, but my god, to what depths will these young women go to be "with the band."
In the '50s, when the original rock'n'roll shows came to the old Hershey Sports Arena (the Alan Freed shows, for one), we didn't want to be "with the band". We just wanted to meet them, make our little shrieks of joy, get autographs, and on one occasion, were actually invited to Fabian's dressing room for birthday cake - his 16th. And the Crests sang "Sixteen Candles". But then we went home to our safe little homes and our warm little beds and dreamed dreams of stardust and fantasy.
Hm. Maybe the Goth Girls know something we didn't. Hell, every female under 30 knows something we didn't. And we thought WE were so smart, all unhibited and all. Hey, it was the 70s, what can I say.
And where is this going, you wonder?
I don't really know. Other than I seem to be doing a lot of this lately, these ruminations on memories of events a long, long time ago, but that have always been the highlights of my life. That and shutting down the dancefloor at the Winners Circle when Mike Dugan and I ran into each other and danced together for the first time in 30 years or more ... set the place on its ear. The band played to us, we danced for them, and a good time was had by all. My particular fifteen minutes of fame.
And I wonder what constitutes 15 minutes of fame these days. Allowing the paparazzi to photograph what used to be against the law ... and not once, but TWICE! Oh, come ON, girls, if you toss it all out there, what are you going to bargain with? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Besides which, any man who becomes the least interested will have to deal with the idea that it's his girlfriend's hoo-hah that was out there on the internet for the whole friggin' universe. Okay, girls, you got the power, you got the options, what did you trade, your inherent common sense??
I guess this is a rant on being old, and getting older, and losing credibility at the speed of sound. But dammit, things are wrong, not wrong like my parents thought was wrong with us, but REALLY wrong, and I'm not sure if I'm really sure what specifically is wrong, but it surely seems like everything. And I'm old. And I'm tired. Who's going to fight for us? Not the young, certainly. They have BMW payments to make.
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