Too Old to Rock and Roll?

In 1964 I was a senior in high school and a recognized "Beatlemaniac." I  wore the moniker proudly. I knew every word of every song on every one of their albums, and in what order they would play. I knew the B-side to every mainstream hit. I knew each inhalation and exhalation of breath taken and expelled by Paul and John. (My George phase came much later as I matured.)

Somewhere around motherhood I got over the Beatles. After the band broke up I was not a Paul fan. He was okay, and his perky love songs still got me humming. But I moved on to Queen, which is where I have stayed. In fact, I would sooner pay to see Freddie Mercury dug up from the grave and put on a stage in a standing position holding a mike than watch a living 80-year-old Paul McCartney, croak out "another silly love song." (His words, not mine.) Yet he's planning a tour this summer, and the tickets will surely cost an arm and a leg and possibly an entire torso.

It's funny how people mock Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi for being "too old" to govern but give aging rockers a pass. It must be the marijuana.