Last night I went to a concert - yep, got out of the house. Trying to raise that low grade I gave myself on becoming urban. Was I out there, experiencing what the big city has to offer? Well, not really. I didn't go hear a new band, see some outrageous dance performance, watch an indie film, or even do something out of my comfort zone. Nope, not at all. It was someone from my generation and an entertainer I have seen in the past. I saw Arlo Guthrie at "The Lamp", the nickname of an old local movie theater, the Alladin, now used for live performances. It was fun - a lot of toe tapping going on. We all joined in for The City of New Orleans and his one verse of Alice's Restaurant (with the opening line, "It all started 2 - no, make that 47 Thanksgivings ago." He said he can only bear to sing the whole 30 minutes of lyrics every 10 years or so and is, therefore, not due to sing it again until 2015. However, he told a wonderful story about his wife getting arrested at a Connecticut airport that had much the same flavor as Alice's Restaurant. He IS a good entertainer.
While waiting for the concert to begin (when I wasn't checking email or texting as were others around me) I took note of similarities and differences from concerts I attended in the past.
#1 Generally I am so far out of it that I am not even in the back row in the arena of coolness. Proof? I got my hand stuck in the back of my sister's seat while trying to get up to give Arlo a standing ovation! Pathetic. Geriatric.
#2 I forgot they stamp your hand when you go in. Not sure why it made me think of a concert I attended in NYC (I think it was Bonnie Raitt) when 8 months pregnant with Stephanie. As I recall I waddled through the door, watching people ahead of me get frisked. When it was my turn to step forward, my stomach got there before the rest of me and the frisker was suddenly confused, ill at ease. His hands hovered over my stomach and then paused. He just couldn't do it. I silently thanked his mother for her good training and got in frisk-free but with a nice stamp on my hand.
#3 Unlike the Bonnie Raitt concert of oh so long ago, the predominant hair color at this concert was white. These WERE my peeps.
#4 An audience of white hairs does not preclude the existence of idiots screaming out comments to Arlo between and during songs. Maybe more annoying than when I was young.
#5 I didn't see anyone get up to dance at their seats. Miss that.
#6 No obvious smell of illegal substances wafting around the room. No comment.
It was a lovely evening. Great music, lots of fun. Am sorry that my brother-in-law had to miss the event but am grateful that my sister picked me to take his place. Thank you, Colin and Mary.
As I sit here typing another memory comes flooding back, a memory of music and white hairs but this time the venue was the warm water pool at the Monterey Sports Center. There were perhaps 25 of us in the pool and I don’t think anyone was under 60. At 62 (at the time) I was probably the youngest. Most were women. One of the few men present set his portable oxygen tank on the side of the pool with the tank's thin hose attached to his nose. It definitely limited his movements. At the top of the wide steps into the pool were two walkers and a bin that held canes of other participants. Get the picture? These were the members of the Wednesday Morning Shallow Water Aerobics Class for Seniors.
I was new to the class. I usually did deep-water aerobics in the large pool but added this as a warm-up to the deep-water class that followed it. So there I was, figuring out where I fit into the procedures and policies of this new group. They all knew each other and I couldn't help but notice the nasty looks I kept getting from the woman next to me who had arrived late to class. Had I inadvertently taken the space in the pool she usually occupied? Was she interested in the man next to me, the one with the portable oxygen tank? Was I the "younger woman" horning in?
Our instructor played music to help us keep to the rhythm of the exercises. I was grateful for her choices – mostly mixes of “our” music. So on this particular morning we were moving to the voices of the Everley Brothers, Beatles and Neil Sedaka. I sang along, softly mind you, given that I don’t have a voice appreciated by most. “When I want you (push) in the night (kick kick) When I want you (pull) to hold me tight (stomp stomp), Whenever I want you (kick) All I have to do (stomp) is dre – ee- ee – ee- am (pull) dream dream dream”. We made that water churn.
I entered a zen zone so as to ignore everyone around me, to focus on moving to the music. I was successful until I recognized that something had changed. Something was different. I opened my eyes and looked around, astonished. Everyone was singing. Everyone. It was under their breaths, mind you, but they were all engaged. What had happened? It was the song. Mick Jagger’s “Satisfaction” was pouring out of the sound system and all 25 white hairs were bobbing and shimmying along. The stink eye lady was preening, the guy with the oxygen tank was strutting, and the looks on our faces - it was the same look we had when we sang it in high school. With chins jutted out, we were a bit surly, a lot aggressive and we had attitude as we swaggered up and down the pool. We were cool, we were hip – and, damn it all, WE CAN'T GET NO SATISFACTION! I collapsed in laughter and, as I resurfaced, wondered if this was Mick Jagger's worst nightmare?
While waiting for the concert to begin (when I wasn't checking email or texting as were others around me) I took note of similarities and differences from concerts I attended in the past.
#1 Generally I am so far out of it that I am not even in the back row in the arena of coolness. Proof? I got my hand stuck in the back of my sister's seat while trying to get up to give Arlo a standing ovation! Pathetic. Geriatric.
#2 I forgot they stamp your hand when you go in. Not sure why it made me think of a concert I attended in NYC (I think it was Bonnie Raitt) when 8 months pregnant with Stephanie. As I recall I waddled through the door, watching people ahead of me get frisked. When it was my turn to step forward, my stomach got there before the rest of me and the frisker was suddenly confused, ill at ease. His hands hovered over my stomach and then paused. He just couldn't do it. I silently thanked his mother for her good training and got in frisk-free but with a nice stamp on my hand.
#3 Unlike the Bonnie Raitt concert of oh so long ago, the predominant hair color at this concert was white. These WERE my peeps.
#4 An audience of white hairs does not preclude the existence of idiots screaming out comments to Arlo between and during songs. Maybe more annoying than when I was young.
#5 I didn't see anyone get up to dance at their seats. Miss that.
#6 No obvious smell of illegal substances wafting around the room. No comment.
It was a lovely evening. Great music, lots of fun. Am sorry that my brother-in-law had to miss the event but am grateful that my sister picked me to take his place. Thank you, Colin and Mary.
As I sit here typing another memory comes flooding back, a memory of music and white hairs but this time the venue was the warm water pool at the Monterey Sports Center. There were perhaps 25 of us in the pool and I don’t think anyone was under 60. At 62 (at the time) I was probably the youngest. Most were women. One of the few men present set his portable oxygen tank on the side of the pool with the tank's thin hose attached to his nose. It definitely limited his movements. At the top of the wide steps into the pool were two walkers and a bin that held canes of other participants. Get the picture? These were the members of the Wednesday Morning Shallow Water Aerobics Class for Seniors.
I was new to the class. I usually did deep-water aerobics in the large pool but added this as a warm-up to the deep-water class that followed it. So there I was, figuring out where I fit into the procedures and policies of this new group. They all knew each other and I couldn't help but notice the nasty looks I kept getting from the woman next to me who had arrived late to class. Had I inadvertently taken the space in the pool she usually occupied? Was she interested in the man next to me, the one with the portable oxygen tank? Was I the "younger woman" horning in?
Our instructor played music to help us keep to the rhythm of the exercises. I was grateful for her choices – mostly mixes of “our” music. So on this particular morning we were moving to the voices of the Everley Brothers, Beatles and Neil Sedaka. I sang along, softly mind you, given that I don’t have a voice appreciated by most. “When I want you (push) in the night (kick kick) When I want you (pull) to hold me tight (stomp stomp), Whenever I want you (kick) All I have to do (stomp) is dre – ee- ee – ee- am (pull) dream dream dream”. We made that water churn.
I entered a zen zone so as to ignore everyone around me, to focus on moving to the music. I was successful until I recognized that something had changed. Something was different. I opened my eyes and looked around, astonished. Everyone was singing. Everyone. It was under their breaths, mind you, but they were all engaged. What had happened? It was the song. Mick Jagger’s “Satisfaction” was pouring out of the sound system and all 25 white hairs were bobbing and shimmying along. The stink eye lady was preening, the guy with the oxygen tank was strutting, and the looks on our faces - it was the same look we had when we sang it in high school. With chins jutted out, we were a bit surly, a lot aggressive and we had attitude as we swaggered up and down the pool. We were cool, we were hip – and, damn it all, WE CAN'T GET NO SATISFACTION! I collapsed in laughter and, as I resurfaced, wondered if this was Mick Jagger's worst nightmare?
So, thank you, Arlo and Mick. You help me adjust to my surroundings and I appreciate it.
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