Rant in the Voice of a Crotchety Old Lady

My youngster friends convinced me I have to have a MySpace account, so I signed up, and I am having so much trouble figuring it out, despite Alison’s patient lessons: “This is how you post a bulletin,” “You can include your schools,” “It is not rude to deny friendship to a band you’ve never heard of seeking to promote itself.” Meanwhile I’m being deluged with emails in which strangers want to “friend” me (which in verb form just sounds vulgar) in a weird language of computer hieroglyphics and lingo: “damn u are a hotttie!!! u got a man ? do u have aim or yahoo messenger so we can talk there ?” Huh? You’d think with so many techie friends this stuff would come more easily to me, at least by osmosis. Alas, no.
Last night I went with Anne Marie to hear an amazing band, Tilly and the Wall. Great lyrics, beautiful haunting harmonies, fun music, and tap-dancing for percussion. Yes. Literally. Brilliant stuff. However, the newspapers saying the show would begin at “9:30 sharp” were liars, and they failed to mention there would be two additional bands performing first. So it was well after midnight when we braved the ninety-plus-degree heat of the pit called Caledonia amid a crowd of very rude youngsters, all who seemed to knock into me at least once during the hour of music, several actually pushing me into others when turning with their backpacks. The sound was pretty dreadful–I didn’t realize how bad until Anne Marie played their CD for me in her car. It’s a shame such a great band played in that venue. And I was so exhausted I couldn’t dance, just swayed everytime I almost fell asleep on my feet. I think the most depressing part is that I feel so old complaining like this. I think I’ve officially crossed over into old lady. Good thing I already know how to knit and tie my hair up in a bun. Now all I need is a rocking chair. And seven or eight cats. Heck, a dozen.