Friday, October 16, 2015
It occurred to me that I spend a lot of blog posts talking about "oldies". Mind you, they're not oldies to me. But at my age, time is apparently relative. Things I think happened, oh, a couple of months ago actually occurred in 2009. Some sort of space-time continuum flares up when one reaches my age. The other night, somebody was talking about something on TV (damned if I remember what it was) and it brought to mind my junior high days. Those seem to have happened oh, a couple of years ago. I can still feel the red-faced embarrassment.
How does that happen? I would equate it to dog years, except my dog still seems pretty spry for her age, whereas when I look in the mirror in the morning, I ponder who that old woman is who's blocking my makeup-applying view. I think it might be my mom.
I met someone a couple of weeks ago through my work who mentioned that a "Cole" somebody was going to be performing at a casino near where she lives (I think she said "Cole"; might have been "Coby" or "Cody",) I mumbled, Oh, I've heard of him", but I might have just been remembering Colby cheese.
I frankly couldn't pick "Cole" out of a lineup.
See, the thing is, when one reaches my age, it's just a bunch of trouble to learn new names. The guy could be good, or he could be great - I'll never know. I can remember "Merle" and I can remember "George", because I formed those attachments when my brain was still pink and pulsing.
And one's brain does another thing when it gets old - it gets cranky.
"Why do I need to know who Jett Jethroson is? I'm sure he sucks anyway. My cortex only has room for a finite number of facts, dammit!"
So, if you're looking for my thoughts on new music, well, I have no thoughts. But I can remind you, or introduce you to, artists that are even older than me (!) and act as sort of a historian. A tour guide.
Everybody needs to have a purpose.
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