And what’s up with the fascination with politics? It’s like getting your AARP card. You hit fifty and suddenly what’s happening in D.C. is utterly fascinating, whereas when you were young you barely looked at the paper, unless it was to read the sports scores or concert reviews. Now you read the Arts section last. You don’t care about most of the performers and the raw hype rubs you wrong.
That’s one thing that sucks about being old. The inability to turn off the spigot of hype. Buy this! See this! It’s the greatest! But you’ve been burned before. Again and again and again.
And there’s no self-respect. It can be the best football game of the year but the TV network is still hyping some lame sitcom that will fail in weeks, they’ve even got the announcer saying how great it is.
And then there are people like Rupert Murdoch, who don’t realize they’re not going to live forever. That’s the great leveler, death.
So I don’t know what oldster art looks like. Those healthy enough to make it are not angsting in love, they’re more worried about their retirement account. And if you tackle an adult subject, you can’t get financing, the young ‘un at the studio can’t relate and believes there’s no audience. And the potential audience is so wrapped up in its lifestyle, so resistant to hype, that whatever penetrates does so slowly, and media doesn’t care about that which is not immediate.
But, once again, being old is great. Except for the health issues. You know the game, you can suck out the b.s., you waste so much less time.
But you’re an outsider. They don’t want you on the field and they don’t want to give you any ink.
But life is grand.