Moldy oldies

Last week we were entertaining guests from Thailand who were in town to talk business with my parents. One of them was this cool guy in his late 50's, whom my sibs and I really enjoyed talking to. I say he was cool not only because he spoke the best English I've ever heard from a Thai, but because he was the first person I've met who had actually been to Woodstock. He regaled us with tales from his hippie days as a college student in the US: how he wore his hair long and went barefoot, how he was all about flower power and "peace and love, man", how he joined demonstrations against the Vietnam War, how he drove to Woodstock in a VW van... the works! We listened with awe, especially when he told us about the acts he saw at Woodstock: Joan Baez, The Who, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, all the legends. When I told him we were amazed that we had actually met someone who's been to Woodstock, he said he was amazed that someone our age actually knew what Woodstock was, and the artists who performed there.

My sibs and I are weird like that. We're old souls, and we get our kicks from stuff people our age would normally regard as ancient, whether it's music, movies or art. My sister in particular is a classics buff; she enjoys listening to jazz, watching black-and-white flicks, and looking at art deco interiors. Our parents find it amusing that our tastes are so outdated, especially when we actually know and appreciate something from their generation that even they are not familiar with. They wonder how their children became as old as-- or even older than-- they are.

My predilection for things from bygone eras does not help me relate to the current fare record labels and movie/TV studios are dishing out. I always feel like a fossil when I fail to recognize the latest emo band to make it big (what the hell is emo supposed to be anyway? it all sounds like whining to me) or react adversely to a popular teen soap and its young stars who look like walking and talking Barbies and Kens (I blame Dawson's Creek, the forerunner of angst-laden teen drama, for spawning such insipid shows like One Tree Hill and The O.C.). Yes, I'm a grandma. But if it's a choice between reruns of M*A*S*H or music videos featuring the likes of Lindsay Lohan (I'm tone-deaf but even I can tell when someone can't carry a tune-- hey girlie, just because you're fully loaded in some places doesn't mean you can get away with singing flat!), then I'd rather be a relic.