The Petrified Woodstock Generation

Some blonde actress I never heard of died in her sleep last night. She was very pretty although a tad anorexic, and just 43 years old. According to my son, who is 26, she was much more famous than Cissy Spacek, the Oscar-winning actress from my generation who is still alive, having lived until the age of 64 without starving herself to death or drinking herself to death or overdosing on drugs or getting arrested for DUI and spousal abuse, or anything at all tawdry. But these days, being tawdry definitely trumps feeling groovy.

The dead woman, whose name escapes me but I think is Lisa something, matters much more to today's generation, I am told, although I am unclear why one generation is considered to be "today's generation" when everyone alive today is in a generation. The bottom line, I am told, is that nobody cares about Cissy anymore, despite her amazing talent as evidenced in mind-blowing movies like Badlands, The Coal Miner's Daughter, Missing, In the Bedroom, Carrie, The Help, and a ton more. But then, nobody knows who Bob Dylan is anymore. It's over for the so-called Woodstock Generation. This is sad, but hey, I'm ready. I thought I wanted to live to be really old, but not if all my heroes are trashed.