Remember when we were like 11, and we didn’t want to play with little kids and their stupid trucks and dolls anymore, but the older kids always ran us off? They called them the “tween” years. (I KNOW you remember this. You might not know where you put your car keys, but you know this. We can name every family on the block we grew up on, all the kids’ names, the neighborhood streets and the families that lived there, the name of the ice cream man, every inch of the parks nearby, where we played, WHAT we played! That was our generation. We were young, happy and OUTSIDE!!)

Today, we find ourselves as “tweens” again — between the really old senior citizens and the forty-somethings who already look at us like something to fear, something hideous they will morph into, like Jeff Goldblum in ‘The Fly.’ BRINDLEFLY!! AAHHHHHH!!! KILL IT!!!

The difference this time around is that we WANT to keep playing with the little kids and their stupid trucks and dolls, and enjoying the last vestiges of whatever youthfulness we have left. The last thing we want is to be welcomed into the really old folks’ homes.

Have you noticed just how many really old people there are out there?  Folks in their 80s, 90s, operating cars at astoundingly slow speeds, blocking supermarket aisles with their shopping carts, falling asleep on gym equipment, setting off Amber alerts … they’re everywhere!

And you know what else about really old people? They don’t give a shit anymore. They’re grumpy, probably in pain, and truly, they just don’t give a shit about anyone or anything anymore. Sometimes, I get caught behind an old guy at the bagel store, and he’s got that look on his face like the “Twilight Zone” episode where the mannequins realize a human has come into their room and they have to appear lifeless. (Either that, or he’s just enjoying an on-the-spot bowel movement. I can’t be sure). “Are you done ordering (or soiling yourself),”  I ask. And, he snaps back to reality and says, almost automatically, “Fuck off!”

Really? Does turning 90 do that to us? But even worse than the don’t-give-a-shit attitude is the amount of time it takes really old people to do, well, just about anything. Ever get stuck behind a woman rummaging through her change purse (!!)  to find the three pennies that’ll give  her exact change, while simultaneously stumping the cashier about how much change to give back? The odds of me getting out of there alive are about the same as an alien spaceship coming to Earth and choosing me — and ONLY me — to go back with them to impregnate their women and keep their race alive. (My first question would be, “The women don’t look like YOU, do they?” My second question would be, “Will I actually be impregnating ALL of your women?” It’s good to know what you’re getting into!)

I choose to look at this second period of “tween” years as  — to borrow a phrase from Hannah Montana — “the best of both worlds.” To the generation coming up behind us and loathing every minute of it, we can look ahead and borrow some of that really old attitude. Sometimes, when I’m at Dunkin’ Donuts and there’s a 40-something behind me, on his phone, being all self-important, I’ll get that faraway look on my face until he asks if I’m finished with my order. I turn, and gladly tell him, “In a minute. I’m just enjoying an on-the-spot bowel movement. Now fuck off!”

I’m getting old. I can do that. If you ask me, it’s moments like these that make life worth living!

Don’t you hate it when you go to see one of your all-time favorite bands in concert, and after a few of their biggest hits, they launch into an hour of music you’ve never heard before?

There’s only one reason I can think of to watch 75-year-olds perform — and it has nothing to do with little blue pills!! (I threw up a little in my mouth just writing that!) I go to these concerts to hear the songs I know. Bands must think that putting out new music keeps them relevant. They’re wrong. It’s their hits that keep them relevant. These are the songs that bring back memories of what we were doing when we first heard them. As the brilliant Ray Davies famously wrote, “You gotta give the people what they want!”

Quick story. You know “The Joker” by The Steve Miller Band. “Pompitous of love!” Right? One time, back in the day, me and a bunch of friends were driving around aimlessly, because that was our main activity. Because the car was packed, I ended up getting separated from a girl I was seeing, who sat up front next to the driver. Next thing I know, she’s making out with the guy! While he’s driving!! (Under different circumstances, I might have found that impressive!) Anyway, the point is, I can’t stand to listen to that song to this day! That taunting “Whoot, Whooo!” makes me want to take a tire iron to my radio!

Maybe that story illustrates a reverse point. Wait… I’ve got one! “Under the Boardwalk” by The Drifters. That was a song my wife and I were to dance to at our wedding (why I’m setting myself up for another reminder of what a schmuck I am, I’m not certain). But just before the band was to play that song, my college roommate came up to me and told me the pressure in one of his car tires was low, and asked me to go outside to check it out with him. (Clever, huh?)  Anyway, while I was out, the song came on, my bride danced alone, and the first of what would become many blows to the head was delivered. Again, not really a positive memory, but you get the point. Music is a powerful trigger when it’s associated with an emotion, and when a band plays songs that I have no emotional attachment to, then it’s time to hit the men’s room and get another cold one from the concession stand.

That’s why I am a total satelitte radio guy. I can listen to exactly the music I want, without commercials, without Cardi B interrupting my listening pleasure! 60s! 70s! Classic rock! Classic vinyl! That’s my kind of music. I don’t have to worry about them slipping in a song I can’t relate to. Sirius-ly!

Another side note .. My wife has missed some of the great performances in rock  ‘n’ roll history. The Who playing ‘Quadrophenia’ .. asleep at ‘The Real Me.’ Eric Clapton? Willed herself to sleep before it began. The Allman Brothers Band? “Why don’t you take a friend.. It’ll be more fun for you!” But Neil Diamond?? Screaming “Sweet Caroline” at the top of her lungs! She even swayed with the stranger standing next to her, but had a grimace on her face the whole time because … hands, touching hands! And poor Carrie.. wipeless!

To be completely honest, though, there are some new sounds that I’m tuning into. They’re the sounds my body makes when I try to get out of bed in the morning. I have to roll onto my left side (‘Oohhhh’), swing my legs off the bed, (‘Oyyyy!’), push up with my left arm to sit upright at the edge (‘Crack! Crunch! Owwww!’), and then stand (‘Snap! What the hell????’). As I rotate my head to stretch my neck… rocks in a blender. I bend to grab my flip-flops and hear an unoiled door hinge followed by what sounds and feels like a gunshot, as my back lets me know it wasn’t ready to bend just then!

This is the new soundtrack of my life. I give it an 8, ‘cause you can dance to it.