Everywhere I go it’s the same. In the gym, the satellite radio station is tuned to “Classic Vinyl–first generation rock n’ roll.” Burgerville, it’s the sounds of the Mammas and the Pappas singing “Monday, Monday.” In Safeway I hear instrumental versions of the 60s. And that doesn’t take into account how many pop hits of 1969 are the theme songs for products on prime time TV.
Help! I’m a prisoner of my generation! I don’t mind an occasional stroll down memory lane, but don’t leave me there. There is so much that is new. I don’t want to miss it while staring into the rear view mirror. Older isn’t necessarily better, it’s just, well, old.