Another sign of age

A few months back I mentioned that the Muzak at the local Walgreens, and probably every Walgreens, has been swtiched to the rock hits of the late 60s, so that you can listen to "White Rabbit" and "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" while shopping for hemorrhoid ointment and Dr. Scholl's gelpads. And from time to time, public TV stations show recorded pop music concerts in which an auditorium of very past-it looking middle aged people cheer as stand-ins perform the hits of doo-wop, Motown, and the early years of rock n' roll. These atrocious broadcasts -- the point of which seems to be to create a sort of Lawrence Welk vibe for the 21st century, only with black people in tuxedos -- are all the more incomprehensible when one realizes that they are being shown during pledge drives, that they are actually intended to fascinate the Baby Boomer viewer so much that 50ish ex-hippies will rush to their phones to support the wonders of public television.

I've always avoided these things like the plague, but last night I ran across something that snagged me that was too close to comfort. It was a documentary about Peter, Paul and Mary. It wasn't some bogus gray-haired reunion concert -- though the film did show footage from such concerts -- it was mostly period footage from the 60s. And it was well-done enough that I was drawn in, listening to that fantastic music. But I was also thinking Uh oh, this is how it starts. You know you're middle-aged when the rebellious pop culture heroes of your youth become pledge bait on the local PBS channel.