Some anonymous person sent me a nasty e-mail message that accused me of trying desperately to be cool, and that essentially stated that fifty-year-old rock 'n roll critics were kind of pathetic. I should apparently take up mahjong or bingo and eventually just quietly shuffle off to the nursing home.
For all you inquiring minds out there, I am a fifty-year-old balding guy with a beer gut and a hearing aid. If I have ever been cool, it was sometime back in the Nixon administration. And if you think I am currently laboring under the delusion of being cool, I will be happy to introduce you to my wife and daughters, who will be more than glad to share my many uncool moments with you, some involving flatulence and drool (although never at the same time, to my knowledge).
It is apparently scandalous to some people that a middle-aged geezer should like rock 'n roll. If I were acting my age, I would limit my conversation to golf, fertilizer, and my 401K plan, and if I wanted to talk about music, I could occasionally bring up Lawrence Welk or wistfully look back on Beatlemania. Well, I plead guilty. I have never stopped caring about music. More true confessions: I have also never stopped reading or going to the movies, juvenile though these activities may be. I have never figured out that at some age, apparently now long past for me, "maturity" is supposed to set in and I'm supposed to become a Boring Old Fart and stop engaging my mind. If that is immaturity, then I'm willing to live with it.
None of it has a thing to do with being cool. It has to do with being human, and being alive. So look at me, Mr. Anonymous Critic, being uncool by blowing my cool. If that helps to reinforce your stereotypes, then I'm happy to oblige.