On Super Bowl Sunday those eternal bad boys of rock n’ roll played the Super Bowl halftime show. Roger Daltry looked like he was a commercial for Hair Club for Men, and Pete Townshend couldn’t keep his shirt buttoned across his navel.
They didn’t sing their classic line ‘Talkin’ ‘bout my generation’ allegedly so they wouldn’t remind the audience how old we all are.
I know how old I am, I know how old Roger is and I know how old I’m gonna feel at 5:15 tomorrow morning when I get up for Zumba after falling off the dieting ‘wagon’ and indulging in homemade pizza!
All night I’ve been trying to persuade Erik, home from Germany finally, to go to bed early.
He pointed out that for the past few months when I’ve been telling him via Skype to go to bed it’s been three or so in the morning. I don’t make a very compelling ‘mom argument’ at 8:30 at night here.
It’s good to have both sons under the same roof again. When Erik left for Germany the first time when he was 16, none of us quite envisioned the path he would take: early admission to college, another trip to Germany, joining us on the ‘prairie’ to go to school….
Talkin’ ‘bout the next generation.