My father used to have office stationery that struck his colleagues and patients as kind of odd. But, speaking as one of his kids, we dug it.
It had a picture of a little man, sitting in a box, looking out at the world, saying, “People are no damn good.” Say what you will about the sentiment. What I remember is that little man looking out at the world. “Who is that?” I asked my dad once. “He’s the Peoplewatcher,” he said. “And he’s watching you.”
Watching people has always been one of my favorite pastimes. What greater place to watch people than a rock festival?
Events like this make me want to sink to my knees and thank God that I am not 20 years old. I embrace my 53-ness.
There are two wonderful things about aging.:
No. 1: You know when to say when. Getting drunk and throwing up loses its appeal some time in your thirties. Trust me on this.
The No. 2: You reach that certain age when you just don’t give a fuck. You don’t wear trendy clothes, listen to the band du jour or follow the lemming-like political path that leads, ultimately, to intercourse. (And isn’t that why we do so much of what we do?)
This article appears in Jul 16-22, 2008.