Steely Dan

Perhaps I should start right off with a clarification.  I am not talking about "A" Steely Dan; although with the theme of my book, you can understand why I felt the clarification might be necessary.

 

Last month I went, with my brother and sister-in-law, to the Think Fast concert down at the Dodge Theater.  As the concert date approach, we began to talk about it at their office.  One of the young aestheticians there asked, "Steely Dan?  What is that?"  What is that?  Was she kidding me?  "It's not what," I told her (now you understand why I felt it necessary to clarify up above what I'm talking about).  "It's who – as in, the one and only, Grammy-Award winning, American jazz fusion rock band, that's who.  Steely Dan.  They've been making music for four decades – Steely Dan! … No?"  With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked away saying, "Never heard of 'em."  Can you believe it?  This is why, at 43, I sometimes catch myself saying, "Young people today…" 

 

I shared this story with the receptionist at our office in California, who just responded with a non-descript, "Ohhh…"  I said to her, "You don't know who they are either, do you?"  She said, "No, sorry."  Then I asked how old she was, and when she responded with, "Twenty-three.  In fact, twenty-three just today – today's my birthday," I just said, "Oh.  Happy Birthday."  Young  people today.

 

It is true they started making music and recording hits while I was still in my single digit years, but c'mon, they're Steely Dan, man.

 

So we get to the Dodge and we can tell immediately, by the people congregating around the theater, we are with an older crowd.  That thought was cemented as we took our seats.  Just a few rows in front of us, we saw a woman trying to negotiate her Rascal Scooter down the aisle.  No lie!  Well, okay, it may not have actually been a Rascal; it could have been a Jazzy, either way the point is she was buzzing around in a geriatric mobility device – at a concert!  I looked around for the man with an oxygen tank and a walker – I figured he couldn't be too far behind.

 

As the place filled up, I began to talk with the lone man sitting next to me.  My sister-in-law warned him not to speak with me.  "Don't say anything," she said, "it could end up in a book!"  (I guess she wasn't too far off, huh?)  He was drunk and had no idea what she was talking about.  I found out that although he lived in the Valley for over 25 years, he had recently moved back to his hometown of Detroit, and came back just to see the show.  I began to refer to him as Detroit – Drunken Detroit was more like it.  

 

Me:  So, what makes a guy come to a concert alone?

 

DD:  Tickets are expensive these days. Plus, my girlfriend's in jail.         

 

Me:  How nice for you. 

 

DD:  She's really my ex-girlfriend.

 

Me:  Again, how nice for you.

 

DD:  Yeah, she wanted me to bail her out, but that's expensive.  It's like $1,000.

 

Me:  $1,000 is a lot of money – better to leave her rotting in jail.

 

DD: It's not just the money.

 

Me:  No?

 

DD:  She actually signed a complaint against me.

 

Me:  Is that why you moved back to Detroit?

 

DD: Yeah – No!  The thing is, if I bail her out and they see my name… you know?

 

Me:  I don't think you actually go to the jail; you would go to a Bail Bondsman.

 

DD: Doesn't matter.  While she's there, I'm getting my stuff from her apartment.

 

Me:  Sly.

 

DD:  Don't you hate how airlines charge you for overweight luggage?

 

Me:  How much are you taking from her?

 

DD:  Just my stuff.  It's mine, why shouldn't I take it?

 

Me:  I don't think Northwest will let you take a futon on the plane.

 

He left to go get another beer – not that he needed any more.  When he returned, he had his new cup of beer in his old empty cup.  So once again, my attention was directed his way.

 

Me:  What's with the two cups, couldn't find a trash?  Or wait, souvenir? 

 

DD:  It helps me count.

 

Me:  Really?  You need visual aids and props to help you count to… two?

 

DD:  (goofy smile)  Sidenote: His actual intake must have been more like 22.

 

Me:  Boy, I bet you're a real catch, huh?

 

DD:  What's that supposed to mean?  I'm fit.  Don't you think I'm fit?  I'm 52. 

         Pretty fit for 52, huh?  I mean, fit for any age, really.  Do you think I'm fit?

 

Me:  As a fiddle.  (A mental fiddle.)

 

Finally the headliners were starting the show.  As the intro played, I had Drunken Detroit whooping and hollering beside me, yelling out, "Alright!  I knew they would open with this! Whew!!!"  Then, after a minute or two, he turned to me and asked, "Which one is this?" 

 

Yeah!  A real catch.  There really is a reason why after a certain age they say all the good ones are taken. 

 

And speaking of age, who is it that said 40 is the new 30?  Clearly not 20-year-olds.  To them, we're old.  The 20-year-olds running around today don't even know who this iconic rock band is. I think it must be the 40-year-olds of today who say that.  The same 40-year-olds who, when 50, will say, "50 is the new 40.  My, aren't we fit?"  

 

So what if we're aging a bit, and the younger generation doesn't quite get us.  It's the natural progression of things, isn't it?  Hey Nineteen didn't know 'Retha Franklin, and now Hey Nineteen is probably collecting Social Security.  Heck, she may even be attending rock concerts in a motorized scooter, who knows?   

 

True, I may be just growing' old and reelin' in the years, but so what, give me that funked up music and I'll be fine.  NO STATIC AT ALL!

 

- M