Black Ice

One of the advantages of the aging process is that one does become wiser. And sometimes, this serves you. (And sometimes you find you’re not nearly so wise as you should be. It’s a crap shoot, really. But I digress…)

A few weeks ago, I was given two tickets to an AC/DC concert. I had never seen AC/DC in concert, though I used to do a brilliant and oft-requested air guitar version of You Shook Me All Night Long.

I know what you’re thinking…. Incredible! What can I tell you? I was a prodigy… it began in grade school with an elaborate pantomime I used to do to Johnny Cash’s Boy Named Sue which, for reasons I cannot explain, captured my young imagination. The biggest acting challenge came near the end of the song, when the Boy Named Sue meets his nemesis – the father who pinned this namby-pamby moniker on him before disappearing out of his life completely. In the song, they go down “kickin’ and a’gougin’ in the mud and the blood and the beer" and I always applied myself very seriously to interpreting this bar fight correctly. (Yeah. And I can’t understand why I’m not married. Geesh!)

But apparently, if the concert at Giants Stadium is any indication, mine is NOT a unique talent. It seems playing air guitar to an AC/DC anthem is a bit like being an Elvis impersonator . . . only, you know, without the white jumpsuit and hairgel. Though I will say it did seem gender specific: no women were doing this (including me, thank you very much), but men from 16 to 60 were living out their rock star dreams in public. Truth be told, it was absolutely wonderful. They were having a blast and so was I.

The friend who went with me on this adventure had never been to a rock concert. I had been to only one previously. (I saw KISS at Madison Square Garden and my ears rang for three days afterward!) Neither of us looks like your average AC/DC fan. But it turns out we fit right in. And had an absolutely rockin’ good time!

So where does middle-aged wisdom fit into this? First, before we began our trip, I stopped at Duane Reade to purchase ear plugs. As I did so, it occurred to me that I was almost out of vitamins, so I picked those up as well. This made me giggle . . . people take a lot of substances into rock concerts to enhance the experience . . . but Centrum isn’t usually on the list! (My friend Kim suggested we throw handfuls of them at the band in lieu of our underwear . . . even though the band members all are older than we are, I bet they’d still prefer the underwear, at least from a symbolic standpoint. But that’s just a hunch and we didn’t test it out one way or the other.)

Another bit of wisdom – as if the ear plugs weren’t enough! – was that we didn’t bother to arrive until 9:30 p.m. At precisely the moment we walked into the stadium, flames shot into the air from the stage, the screen above it lit up and the show began. It was as though they’d been waiting for our arrival!! No 16 year old could have been more delighted than we were at that moment! AND. When the montage of the band began? Savvy elders that we are we knew the concert was winding down and made a quick get away. We were through the Lincoln Tunnel and sharing a burger at Jackson Hole while most of our fellow concert-goers were still looking for their car keys! Or their cars, come to that. (Giants Stadium is . . ..well . . . giant!)

My adverturesome friend and I had some great times together in our Roaring 20s, as she likes to say. But our new adventures seem every bit as wonderful . . . maybe even a little better, actually, because we are a little smarter. We know now even better what we knew when we met years ago: the truth is that good friends make fthe bad times bearable and the good times better. And that holds true whether you're six or 16 or 60 or 106.