Band of Brothers with Moves Like Jagger

I like the music that's out now. I am a big country music fan. But there is music out now that is pretty good with actual lyrics you can hear-one, I never really pay attention to and two, with age, is increasingly hard unless I turn my head. We had a real dry spell with rap with artists who were swallowing their microphones and, unless you were fourteen, couldn't understand what they were saying.

My older brothers have moves like Jagger as the jaunty tune says. When the three of us go to weddings, we form a small herd, have a nice, aged, beverage, and wait for our song-Shout. Then, we are called to the dance floor like the aged left-handed pitcher of twenty years, being called out of the dugout to save the last inning of the World Series; like George Blanda driving the last five minutes of the Super Bowl, throwing the touchdown pass then taking his forty-seven year old leg and kicking the field goal.

We're like Stormin' Norman.

The crowd doesn't know we've been carbo loading for these events for the required forty-eight hours before and two of us are wearing knee braces. We've talked seriously about whether or not we should do Depends or just double up on our underwear. We come from the darkness and the crowd circles and we bless the wedding. No, really, marriages have the possibility of being a train wreck without us dancing to Shout. Shamans from all over the world write us and ask us to come. If only Arnold and Maria had us at their wedding, they'd still be married and opening a food kitchen somewhere.

But the Band is getting, well, old. I'm the youngest at fifty-three then you got the other two at sixty-two and sixty-five. The brother at sixty-five is in better shape then the other two. He is fighting age with hammers in both hands. We go to weddings and he never leaves the dance floor. Makes me tired just watching him. He doesn't listen to the lyrics either. None of the brothers do. We can't do that and concentrate on not getting hip-displasia. If we fall, we ain't getting up. Its a survival thing, but every once in a while, some words come through that are simple, concise, to the point, and sometimes will make us snort corn out our nose.

You got artists like Lady Gaga and Katie Perry leading the way. It's funny anyone can make a zillion dollars off the the various forms of the words yeah...yeah or hey, hey, hey the latter of which always has to be said in three's. The Band, if nothing, is hip, we're in the groove; in the know; we know what's shakin'.

We know that ...yeah tonight baby... means that something is going to happen tonight. Why can't it happen during the day, when we're awake? We're with you, we know-as long as it happens before nine. See, at nine, its bed time, sleepy time. Maybe that's what they mean. Oh man, bed with cold sheets and a good book, unconscious by nine-fifteen. Oh, yeah baby.

Then you got ...locked up like Lindsey Lohan...which is just a reminder to live a good life instead of one with the constant threat of DUI's and cavity searches. Frankly, when that song comes on the radio, you can't help but tap the dashboard of your Audi (when you're over fifty, you buy Audis).

Sometimes, just because its old doesn't mean its washed up. The great philosopher and money manager, M.C. Hammer with his classic, Can't Touch This causes the listener to ask 'touch what?'

What Katie or Lady should think about is maybe replacing such enigmatic word combos as ...fill me with your poison... with ...passion burns like never before.... Both seem to require a series of antibiotic booster shots. But we need to keep it real. Music listeners are smart people, we know what is true and what isn't, come on.

No twenty-five year old believes they are a tiger she wants to tame and if you are over forty-five, you are tamed. You just want to curl up with a good book or find a comfy chair with two fingers of Jack Daniels (black label of course) and an old John Wayne movie.

Lyrics like ...all night long...have no application to the older set unless we're flying high cover for a patrol in the Sandbox, waiting for our granddaughter to be born, or are having a serious discussion about the number of trips to the bathroom during our sleep cycle. And for the young, come on, who are you talking to? We use to be young once. Nothing has changed. When your talking about all night long, nothing goes past thirty minutes and then you're just like the rest of us, forming a drool pool on your pillow and developing that slight snore that is cute at twenty-four, but at fifty-four causes your spouse to leave you brochures to sleep clinics on the counter.

So, take heart my young friends. We're as good once as we've ever been. The old warrior stock, that is at least twenty years ahead of you, have your back. Just help us up off the dance floor if we go down and can't get up. Lend us a hand or maybe two, get us back to our chair, pat us on the back and thank us for coming out of the dugout, then check your watch. If its nine, call us a cab, will you?