A Night on the Town in America 2.0

From my primary "I Protest" Substack (July 2022) at donaldjeffries.substack.com

Last night, I went to the first concert I’ve attended since that long ago, pre-COVID summer of 2019. My wife had purchased tickets for the Bare Naked Ladies/Gin Blossoms/Toad the Wet Sprocket show a few years back, but of course all those events were cancelled in the wake of the world’s longest lasting “virus.”

She paid extra to get Meet and Greet backstage passes with the Gin Blossoms, one of her all time favorites. I like them too, and was excited to experience my first direct encounter with great musical artists. Well, there was Graham Parker, twice, but he was at a small venue in 2018 and 2019, and I’d already been communicating with him via email. He called me “mate.” He left free tickets for me, and we talked a while afterward, and took pictures, but it wasn’t an official Meet and Greet.

So we get to Wolf Trap, a nice national park that features a lot of big name concerts, very early, as suggested. The Meet and Greet is supposed to start at 6:00, but they tell you to get there by 5:30 at the latest, because “sometimes they get moved up.” So we are there before 5:00. We probably talked to a half dozen employees, all of whom gave us at least slightly differing instructions. After waiting for more than half an hour at a designated spot, a ranger tells us we have to go to the back of the incredibly long admission line. After some irate blowback from me, he finally agrees to escort us via a back route, down to the Meet and Greet area.

By now, it is starting to rain. I brought no umbrella because the weather forecast on my IPhone said zero percent chance of precipitation. Weather “science” is one of the more obvious aspects of our laughable Banana Republic. You’d think that “meteorologists,” what with their Doppler Radar systems and all, could do a better job than old timers with creaky knees, but they’re virtually always wrong. At any rate, we waited under a tent for another half hour.

Finally, we’re escorted into a building where the Gin Blossoms are. We are informed that masks are required inside the building. I expect to see these random mask requirements for as long as this collapsing country has at least some order left to it. I’m grumbling, but put the thing on, for the first time in a very long while. In true “COVID” logic, we are told that the mask can be taken off during the picture taking. Ah, I see, the old wear your mask to enter a restaurant but take it off when you get to your seat rule. Pure science.

As you can see from the photo below, lead singer Robin Wilson kept his mask on for all pictures. At least he took it off on stage. Guitarist Jesse Valenzuela greeted me by saying what sounded like “Hi Don.” I must have imagined that, but my wife told me I have should have questioned him. Maybe he’s a fan lol. They were nice enough, but the “gift bag” consisted of a small decanter with some of their signatures on it. I thought that was a bit lame. Can you guess who’s not in the band?

We ate our predictably overpriced food and watched Toad the Wet Sprocket on a big telescreen. I only recognized one of their songs. Near the end of their set, the lead singer thanked all the “nurses” and “first responders.” I cringed a bit, but resisted the temptation to shout out a snappy response. The Gin Blossoms set was good- I enjoy their music. Robin Wilson didn’t have to thank anyone; his ridiculous mask wearing told me I all I needed to know about his leanings. But he did mention Bono favorably. Robin’s a great singer, but Bono is a Hall of Fame fraud.

I’ve loved the Bare Naked Ladies for many years. Overall, they were a bit of a disappointment. I know most of their songs, and they only played a handful that I recognized. Then, at the end of the concert, they went into a head-scratching series of cover songs by other artists, from the Carpenters to Led Zeppelin. Their drummer was allowed to screech out some of these songs, while wearing a bizarre headdress of some kind. It just didn’t seem very Bare Naked Ladies-like. I didn’t know co-front man Kevin Page had left the band years ago, so perhaps this explains why they left out a lot of songs he wrote and/or sang.

Remaining front man Ed Robertson has gained a lot of weight. A lot of weight. He referenced this by mentioning the lyric in their hit song Brian Wilson about weighing 300 pounds, saying he’d almost reached that “during the pandemic.” Ah, yes, another reason to love “COVID.” As if America wasn’t fat enough already, now even celebrities are using it as an excuse to pack on more pounds. Not sure why the “pandemic” should cause weight gain, but the sheeple eagerly accept that.

Robertson, like Toad the Wet Sprocket’s front man, thanked the “first responders” and like other celebrities, noted that “we will get through all this together.” I don’t think he was talking about the lies, hardship and death caused by the Greatest Psyop in the History of the World. These CNN-style shout outs to the usual suspects, combined with the mask wearing, made for a very un-rock ‘n roll atmosphere. I saw one pathetic smoker looking for a designated area. It used to be that all concerts were full of smoke, mostly from marijuana. We’ve gone from one extreme to the other.

And the crowd was full of winners. The girl in front of me kept putting her arm back, rubbing it against the straw in my drink (a cup holder was on the back of each seat). She was so drunk her eyes kept closing as she pawed the hapless guy she was with. Okay, maybe that reminded me more of America 1.0, but still she didn’t have to ruin my drink. Well, the sweet tea I was drinking wasn’t sweet, was watered down, and warm. I guess maybe she did me a favor. I wonder what my twenty something self would think of me drinking sweet tea at a concert. And not smoking.

The lady in front of her was constantly on her feet, dancing with arms waving, blocking the view of others behind her, like me. She was, naturally, obese, had lots of visible tattoos, a multitude of earrings, and….was wearing a mask. The total America 2.0 package. Maybe I am just too superficial. As my wife said, “she’s having a great time.” That’s all that counts, I suppose. For all I know, some other disgruntled concert attendee was observing me, and judging my conduct or looks.

In a classic example of the “new normal,” the bathroom I went in featured almost no running water in the sinks. They all had that automated sensor, which you activate by putting your hands under the faucet. Except that none of them worked. I had to walk around to probably a dozen sinks, with soap on my hands, to find one that spewed out water for less than 5 seconds. Love that conservation. It will only get worse with the coming fake water shortage. As I asked aloud, “what the hell is going on with the water,” a few men gave me blank stares, while everyone else ignored it. I guess maybe they wiped the soap on their clothes, or went back to their seats with soapy hands.

I used to attend concerts regularly, starting in the mid-1970s, when I saw George Harrison. I think I paid $8 for the ticket. I saw the Rolling Stones for maybe $10 in 1975, and there were more drugs being passed around in the aisles than you can imagine. Not a police officer in sight at that one, or any that I attended. I don’t recall any obese women dancing in front of me, blocking my view, at any of those events. Maybe someone cute did, so I didn’t mind. I was even more superficial then.

I don’t venture out often now, into the increasingly frightening world of America 2.0. It’s no fun to be so cruelly reminded of how much things have changed. Again, there was lots wrong with America 1.0. Corruption, favoritism, unfairness, injustice. Conspiracies flourished. But there was a sense of competence from those in charge. There were eccentrics, and many of them weren’t entertaining. Some were dangerous. But absolutely mad people weren’t generally out and about. Let alone installed in positions of great prominence.

I still found myself getting sociable with people at the concert, which has always been my inclination. The woman who spent the first hour or so waiting with us for the Meet and Greet was a bit of a character. She seemed to be following the Gin Blossoms everywhere, and had clearly been to more concerts than my wife and I put together. And that’s really saying something. But she was friendly, and it was natural to converse with her. I didn’t push things, trying to interact, as I was sometimes notorious for doing in the past. I think that is more America 2.0 than getting older.

I was already changing a bit from my gregarious self in the last five years I worked for Inova Health System. Before they fired me, after 44 years with the corporation (my entire adult working life), for helping out a handicapped co-worker. And there was nothing I could do about it legally (believe me, I tried), in a “Right to Work” state. Which means they have the right to fire you for anything. At any rate, I felt uncomfortable working in that particular data center. At first, I was characteristically sociable, but one of the women actually complained to management. She was in charge of the new password system, and didn’t answer my emails. So I had to talk with her about that. I certainly had no other reason.

So, even then, I could see that the workplace was being transformed into a much less friendly place. No more “politically incorrect” jokes, no compliments to female employees. I don’t know how any guy figures out how to ask a woman on a date now, especially at work. My first few books were published while I was working there, and only a couple of people were interested at all. Kind of like my family and real life friends. So it’s probably a good thing that I was fired. Now I can lead the life I want, as a full-time writer, albeit it a lowly paid one. But the injustice still stings. I want them to at least apologize, and give me the same settlement other long time employees got.

Already in the workplace, I was feeling like a man out of my element. Working alongside people who were years or even decades younger than me. You wonder if they think of you as one of the guys, or just an old man. I’d seldom found it hard to fit in anywhere, but I was starting to really feel awkward. And, after being unceremoniously escorted from the premises, I’ve only heard from a few of my fellow co-workers. And they pretty much stopped calling long ago. You realize that co-workers are like your fellow high school students. They weren’t really friends. Just associates that were forced to be in the same place, at the same time.

At shopping malls now, I feel like I’ve entered another universe. Everyone and everything looks different. It’s not like it was, shopping for clothes at Jean Jack or eating ice cream at Farrell’s. As Steve Forbert said in one of his great songs, “I blinked once, and it was gone.” I blinked once, and many things were gone. The changes are subtle at first, like the aging process, but then you look at a photo from ten years ago and are slapped with cold hard reality.

At a 2017 Don Henley concert, I recall looking at the crowd and thinking, “Are these oldsters really my contemporaries?” Surely, I must be the only one here who still looks good. What happened to everyone else? Again, you’re hit with the mystery of time. I’ve sometimes wondered what would happen if they destroyed all the clocks and calendars, all references to time. Would people still age the same way? Or are we responding to our concept of time? I try to be very active, but every time I think of shooting some hoops, I stop myself and think, “you’re too old for that.”

At last night’s concert, I was struck by all the oldsters in the crowd, and it seemed all the sadder because these groups should, theoretically have a younger core demographic than say Don Henley. And the bands themselves just don’t look like rock stars used to. Short hair or shaved heads. Dressed in shorts, like me. One of them talking about going for a run prior to their set. Sure, that’s a lot healthier than becoming a heroin addict, but it just doesn’t seem like rock and roll.

Next month, I’ll be back at the same venue, to see my all-time favorite Elvis Costello again. It’s probably been thirty five years since I last saw him play. I hope he doesn’t thank the “first responders” or talk about “beating” COVID. I don’t think I could take it. I wouldn’t do a Meet and Greet with him, for fear of being disappointed. Actually, the older acts never seemed to do Meet and Greets- I think it’s a fairly new phenomenon. It’s just as well. most of those guys have understandably huge egos. As they say, never meet your heroes.

So, that was my night on the town in America 2.0. I probably would have enjoyed it more if I’d been sedated by alcohol. I never used to complain much about concerts. When, like everyone else there, I was high. I probably should start drinking again. That might make this deteriorating world look a lot better. Beer goggles, as they used to indelicately say. Now, I guess somehow that would be “racist.” We would need some powerful beer goggles for America 2.0.