Woodstock Fallout

Every damn thing wrong with me -- all things that cause me pain and discomfort and ruin the quality of my life on a daily basis -- are apparently "the most common affliction of people over the age of 60." According to several reliable sources, including every medical website and a string of snooty specialists, my problems are as common as dirt.

Just weeks ago my own family physician sought to comfort me by saying that at least 50% of everyone who once frolicked in the mud at Woodstock now suffers from tinnitus, high blood pressure, arthritis, cataracts and diverticulitis (he didn't put it in those terms but that's how I heard it), as if knowing I am not alone in the slow, steady disintegration of my body makes it any better. Well, guess what -- it doesn't. In fact it makes it worse. Was it that bad acid they warned us about? Smoking too much pot? All the rain?

I wonder about the other 50%, the ones who are out running with all their original body parts, with earbuds instead of ringing in their ears, scarfing down salt at every opportunity and enjoying daily, undramatic visits to the bathroom. Were any of those people at Woodstock? Now that would be an interesting study.