Too Much For Too Old

When I was a kid I occasionally mustered up enough money for a rock concert to attend.  Rock concerts featured musicians with loud guitars, amplifiers, drums, and vocalists. 

Not to be confused with rap, whose venue includes gaily prancing about a stage with a microphone inside their mouths, facial scowls, while reciting bad poetry, rock was very entertaining.

Many years ago, one of the themes of rock was corporate America and the hold it had on the poor.

Songs about the Vietnam War, homeless people, drugs, making love, and overthrowing everyone in a blue corporate suit, were making the rounds.  And those blue corporate suits were referred to as “da man.”

We, as a young people with vision, were expected to join together to protest anything and everything our parents held dear.

My parents worked, and worked hard, for what we had.  My Dad toiled in a hot factory in order to put food on our kitchen table and a roof over our heads.  My Mother worked outside the home, too.

To figuratively spit in their eyes because some musician suggested we do so would have been counterproductive for me, to say the least. 

Antique show

One of these popular bands spouting hate for da man was The Eagles.  They had such great insight into America accompanied by mellow lyrics set to appropriately catchy tunes.

They often talked about da man and how he had too much money, too much power, too much control, and something needed to be done.  Now.

Just as most of my generation did, they grew up, kind of.  A few years ago, these geriatrics – just as the Blues Brothers did – “got the band back together.”  They found new musicians to fill the voids left by old members who were unfortunately incarcerated or deceased.

This newly reformed bunch of has-beens felt compelled to hit the road and do a tour for all their deserving fans.

They were ready to perform their noted works about not enough money for the working man and how everyone should be able to use drugs-of-choice with impunity.

Their venue was near Manassas, Virginia, and my sainted wife felt it would be nice to see them perform live.

She is a huge Neil Diamond fan – another one of those ‘60’s musical greats.  She searched for tickets, only to discover the cheap seats were reasonably priced at a mere $195.

Approaching the arm-and-leg price of an artificial heart transplant, we both decided it was a bit much for poor people like us to pay to listen to these relics carp about da man making too much money.

We opted for a rental VHS movie, cheap wine, and a bowl of popcorn.

Maybe, just maybe, The Eagles should have saved and invested their money for their twilight years rather than gouging poor folks like me.

I’ll wager da man could’ve helped them with financial advice.