A woman, observing the uncharacteristically longer line outside the men's room last night, pointed out to my wife, "At their age, they have to use the bathroom every ten minutes."  This morning, I imagine twenty thousand stock brokers and ad execs, bankers, doctors and lawyers, butchers, bakers and very upscale candlestick makers (and a certain mystery writer as well), all smiling the same tired smile, all struggling to get to work on time.  We stayed up late last night, twenty thousand of us, "unstuck" in time (to borrow a phrase from Kurt Vonnegut) celebrating our youth for sure, but that's far too simple of an explanation. 

It's about identity, how music defines us and connects us.  I said once, in another post, It's about how the boy still lives, somewhere inside the man, but also about how the man always lived, somewhere inside that boy.  With one ear, I may have been listening to 2010, but the other ear was firmly planted in 1970.

James Taylor and Carole King, last night, at Madison Square Garden.

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