I refer to y’all as kids this month because I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m getting too old to properly fit within this modern society and culture. I guess I’m feeling sorta out-dated. Apparently there’s much more to being an aware, functional American citizen than just paying taxes and making somewhat of an attempt to obey the laws.
I guess I’m feeling this way because I recently read through a “People” magazine my daughter in law left in our car and realized I didn’t recognize 95% of the people in it. And the problem isn’t just so-called celebrities either. Actually it all started about ten years ago when I first noticed I didn’t understand most of the advertising in Rolling Stone magazine. I mean, what does it mean when there’s a full-page photo of somebody doing something weird and ya don’t even understand what the hell they’re trying to sell?
I was elated when I first got the Biography channel on television. I’m an amateur history buff and thought how great it would be to watch the life stories and important accomplishments of interesting people. But most of the time the channel showcases modern people I’ve never heard of who aren’t very interesting and haven’t really accomplished anything. It even features hour long “bios” of stupid sit-coms I’ve never felt the desire to watch. Like, how interesting are the details and full story of The Brady Bunch? And, by the way, who exactly are the Kardashians?
A few years ago I was shocked to realize that some sport bike and high-speed café type riders were giving crusty old bikers like me a bad name by doing 80 MPH wheelies on the interstate and zipping in and out of traffic. Ya know that 1% patch that a lot of clubs proudly display on their jackets? That refers to a statement once made that, “Most motorcyclists are responsible, law abiding citizens. It’s only that 1% that gives all the rest a bad name.” I don’t know what to think about all this now. I guess these people are the new one percent. The only good thing about this is that the police who know how to do their jobs properly pay more attention to them and less attention to me.
I know I’ve written about this before, but for some years (up until I slowed down on it) I was a DJ. I had a weekly job as the “Happy Hour” DJ at a major local bar and the customers seemed to really enjoy the music I played. I could play anything from laid back James Taylor and Van Morrison, to more kick ass tunes by people like AC/DC, Thin Lizzy, Southside Johnny and ZZ Top. Even the younger crowd usually dug it because most of them were brought up on this stuff.
But one night I was asked to cover for the regular Saturday night DJ and did so, only to be told by a very angry young woman that she and her girlfriends couldn’t possibly shake their tight little asses to bands like Lynard Skynard and Bob Seger because it was un-danceable. Now that freaked me out! Anybody that can’t dance to “Gimmie Three Steps” should be shot! When I told her I couldn’t play hip-hop or rap by explaining I had none, she said she had a bunch of it in her car. When I refused to do that, she had a fit and complained to the owner, but he thankfully told her to go away. Then he asked me to play some Motown to satisfy the younguns, which didn’t bother me at all. I can get way into Motown. When I next saw “Rappin’ Rick” (or whatever the regular DJ’s name was) I told him they couldn’t pay me enough to do what he did, and he completely understood
After that, though the owner really wanted to keep me at my happy hour gig, I decided to hang it up for a while. Not because I felt unappreciated, or that young people can’t seem to dance to rock and roll anymore, but for a few reasons. One of ‘em being that my son Jason is loading all my music onto a lap top, and until he’s finished, lugging over 2000 CDs around can be a hassle for an old man. Ya see, I believe it’s often the least remembered tracks on an album that’s the best, and I like having access to all of them.
Other signs of old age is the appearance of hair where it never was (It’s coming outta my ears for chrisakes!), and the disappearance of it where it used to be. Also I find I reach for the magnifying glass more often to read fine print. And ya tend to slow down a lot. I’ve been watching the Winter Olympics for the past week and realized the only sport that was my speed was curling.
When I was very young (like all of us probably) I couldn’t wait to grow up: To be able to do whatever I wanted to do, more or less. Then as an adult I began to dread getting older. I imagined I’d enjoy retiring, especially when getting up to go to work got the better of me, and like everybody does I planned on getting a Winnebago and/or a new bike and traveling for the rest of my life. But I also began to actually wince when I saw old men sitting on a park bench or slowly walking down the street. I thought my purpose in life was to ride and party. I agreed with ‘em when the Who said, “I hope I die before I get old.” Well, I sure changed my mind about that!
I used to just about live in bars. Hell, I’ve even slept over night in them a few times. In fact, since I often used to be in bands, I got paid to be in ‘em before I was even of legal age. Now I don’t even mind not going out on the weekends, which actually surprises the hell outta me. I never thought I’d wanna stay home on a Saturday night unless I was having a party. Now I get my “bar fix” from poker runs and occasionally DJing for biker bars and events.
For the most part I’m settling in nicely I think…..if I could just come to grips with this identity problem. Julie and I often go for day-long rides in the countryside and we go on road trips with friends. Every now and then we’re up for a weekend-long party (we are about due for a June Jam). But to tell ya the truth, I find myself amused these days when someone actually brags about how many miles he’s put on his bike, as if that proves anything (probably because I used to do that).
To be totally honest, it did sorta bother me when a sweet young thing from the old days called a few Saturday nights ago after midnight and asked if I was up for some partying (we still have a bar in our basement, though we don’t use it often). When I replied that I was sleeping and didn’t wanna, she said that I was getting too old and kept on trying to talk me into it.
But as I listened to her I realized that it always has to turn out the same way: She’d come over and we’d fire up the bar. We’d drink for hours and I’d talk her into getting naked and dancing on the brass pole. She’d knock something over and break it. She’d get drunker and drunker until she barfed all over the place. She’d feel guilty and be embarrassed about it and insist on driving home. She then might get a DUI or worse, and I’d wake up with a major hang over and feeling guilty my own self when I found out what happened to her.
So I said good night, rolled over and went back to sleep next to my very own dancing girl.
I guess this getting’ old stuff isn’t so bad after all. I know it’s a helluva lot less drama.
Bummer
