One Moldy Oldie

Soul Asylum. I think that’s their name.

There are many, many things I am too old for.  I’m too old for drama.  But I will not discuss that here because this blog is for fun and inspirational subject matter.  I’m too old for My Retail Job, even though I have to admit I’m having a blast among all the aches, pains and “you’re a mature woman” comments.  I am too old for roller coasters, which pisses me off because I would go on one a thousand times in a row if my brain didn’t scramble into a million pieces after the first 30 seconds of the first ride.  And as much as I love my new sport of running, I may be too old for it because my knees feel like they have been through a war.  Maybe even 2 wars.

Last night I met a friend of mine for dinner about an hour away from where I live.  A very old friend.  She’s not old, our friendship is old.  We were having a great time, having great conversation as always.  Halfway through dinner she asked if I wanted to go with her to meet some of her friends at this theater outside of town to see a band.  Who am I to pass up a good time?  PLUS it was an opportunity to meet new friends.

We trekked on over the border into the next town to see this band.  You may remember them.  Soul Asylum.  I was never a grunge band follower.  I am classic rock and moldy oldies all the way.  After singing half a dozen songs, they sang ONE song I vaguely recognized.  But every person in that room had gray hair.  If they didn’t have gray hair, it was colored I’m sure.  So, I didn’t feel out of place.  A Justin Timberlake concert I would feel out of place at.  This concert?  I just felt old among the old.  And the music was just too effing loud.  I mean, how is a mature woman supposed to have an intellectual conversation with all that noise?

Me and my old friend
Me and my old friend.  And that would be Sprite in my cup.  I swear.
Me and my new friends
Me and 2 of 4 of my new friends.  And my Sprite.

Sure, I had a good time.  Sure, I danced to music I never heard of or even liked.  Sure, I had a drink.  Ok, half a drink.  Ok, a quarter of a drink.  Because after about 20 minutes into being there, I hit a wall.  Not literally.  But the “holy shit, I need my bed NOW” kind of wall.  As much as I was enjoying these women, my new friends among my old one, I felt a very strong urge to put my head on a pillow.  In fact, if there was a pillow somewhere in that place, I would have had my ass in a corner on that floor.  Even amongst all the racket.  And it wasn’t even 10pm yet.

And the band?  They have to be at least my age.  Where, may I ask, do they get their energy?  I guess from their hair.  Because they had plenty of it.  Hair.  Good for those guys.  But I will bet any amount of money that they went home, slathered a crapload of Ben Gay on their joints and fell into a deep coma.  Because that’s what I did.  And I’m not too proud to say so.  I mean, who needs pride when you pee your pants every time you sneeze and, well, never mind.  Anyway, I think I’ll stick to James Taylor.  He gets me.

Call Me….Maybe?


My mom went to a Catholic school as a chid (even though she wasn’t Catholic at the time but that’s a story for another day).  Their priest, Old Monsignor Pierce said that Elvis Presley was evil and ordered the children to go home and smash all of their Elvis records.  I can only pray that some old priest will demand the same for Justin Bieber, Carly Rae Jepsen and Nicki Minaj.  Where’s Monsignor Pierce when you need him?

I know I’m being a little over-dramatic, but every single time I have to listen to this shit when the kid gets in the car with her girlfriends I want to throw myself out of the vehicle — while it’s moving.  I swear the radio plays the same 12 songs.

It’s my opinion that most of the music of today has no substance.  In 20, 30 or even 40 years from now I can guarantee that you won’t hear much of it anywhere.  I can’t see how it will have staying power.  Not like the great music of the past.  (Although I have to admit I have a bit of a crush on Justin Timberlake and Usher but there is an exception to every rule.)

While I’m at it, I have to make a comment about Nicki Manaj.  I cannot understand how someone whose speaking voice sounds like 2 tons of cotton swabs were shoved up her nose can have a good singing voice.  I’m not really an “American Idol” groupie anymore, but if it’s the only thing on, I may watch it for a few minutes.  All I want to do is jump through the TV screen with a box of tissues.  Surely she’s got snot up there from 1994.

And the names?  Chiddy Bang.  I wonder what his favorite movie is.  Flo-Rida.  Let me guess.  He’s from Miami.  LMFOA.  I guess when people stop using text speak, this band will become obsolete as well?

I remember when the kid was into The Jonas Brothers a few years ago.  DH and I set up 3 computers so we could get her concert tickets for her birthday.  We were one of the lucky ones.  6 months later, if you so much as mentioned the name Jonas, she would gag.  And I never hear them on the radio.  Ever.  Where’d they go?  Into the graveyard of has-beens.  Pretty soon we’ll see them appear on a cheesy reality TV show with Cindy from The Brady Bunch.

I’ll tell you what is good music.  Anything by Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles and Joe Cocker.  And that’s just to name a few.  I could be here all night naming them all.  It’s a tough choice…Led Zeppelin or Miley Cyrus?  Miley!  Yeah right, when the Levee Breaks.