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I Hate Classic Rock…And Your Face

March 1, 2013

So I went on a date.

I know that just two posts ago, I was saying how I WASN’T going to be dating, but I decided to switch it up. I have to keep you readers on your toes.

I met this guy and he asked me out. I didn’t know anything about him, but I thought “What the heck?” So I said yes. I guess that’s how these things work.

The good news is that he was better than Jerry. I mean, he managed not to call me a whore in the first 2 minutes, so that’s good, right? Actually, he didn’t call me a whore at all, so he deserves a gold star or something.

Spoiler alert: We won’t be going out again.

Clue number one was that he didn’t shave. I know it wasn’t a real formal date. No white tie or tails were involved. There were no waltz numbers. But still, aren’t there minimum basic standards? Shaving, for me, is one. Also, please brush your teeth (I have no idea whether he brushed his teeth or not. So I guess that tells you how the date ended. WITHOUT KISSING. Of course, he ate ahi, so you probably wouldn’t have known if he had brushed his teeth earlier. Am I overthinking this too much?)

Clue number two was the classic rock. I will only really rail against one type of music, and that is classic rock. It’s fine. It really is. I just think it shows a profound lack of creativity or love of learning or curiosity or SOMETHING to keep listening just to the same 100 songs for 40 years.

Me: So, what kind of music do you like?
Him: Classic rock.
Me: What else?
Him: Oh, mostly just classic rock. And pop, I guess.

SHUT THE DOOR. You can listen to some classic rock. But for God’s sake, throw something else in the mix if you want me to stick around. Deadmau5. Mumford & Sons. The Mountain Goats. Rihanna. Anything. Just some other damned thing to show your ears didn’t fall off in 1985.

There were other little things. Not bad things, just things. But then…after a few beers…he told me his dream. He confided his dream to me, and because I am the kind of shithead who does these kind of things – in other words, a writer – I am going to share his confidential dream with you.

Bear in mind that he is my age. And that he has ever been in a band. Never had formal musical training. Never sung anywhere, outside of karaoke.

His dream, the thing he wants to work on this year, is getting on the X Factor, The Voice, and American Idol.

I’ll let that settle for a minute.

“But I could blow them all away,” he said. Then he sang a few lines of classic rock, walking along down by the harbor.

Oh my, people.

I don’t even know what to do with that. It would be like me trying to get published in the New Yorker this year. Ah, probably even less likely, since people have actually paid me to write a thing or two. But in either case, not gonna happen.

I’m all for dreams. I’m all for going for it. But completely unrealistic dreams that you have never ever taken a step toward, but for which you have some completely folly-filled confidence you’ll magically attain.

I had to wonder if it is a consequence of our culture of positivity, that tells us anyone can do anything if they dream. I don’t believe it. I believe anyone can do anything if they work hard enough and have enough natural talent and enough luck and are in the right place at the right time.

No, my friend. You will not be on American Idol. For one, the maximum age on Idol is 28, something you passed more than 20 years ago. (“They might have a problem with my age,” he admitted.)

Step away from the nitrous oxide. And don’t ask me out again. (He did. But I declined. I told him “You Can Go Your Own Way.” But “Don’t Stop Believin'” and “Dream On.” Ok, I’m out…)

Ballet Lessons 1972
I could have been a ballerina. If I were shorter, lighter and not incredibly clumsy.

  1. March 1, 2013 22:29

    I like the notion of you on dates. I shudder at the likely candidate pool, though. We men are very nearly all terrible. One of my latest hobbies is, while looking at couples, determining whether they “match” in terms of overall dress. I have not yet found a man who dresses as well as the woman companion.

    Same-sex couples notwithstanding.

    Also, the pedant in me must correct you slightly “Go your own way” is the Classic Rock staple I think you were thinking of. So, (you can) go your own way.

    Good tidings Suebob. It’s still rock-n-roll to me.

  2. Gretchen permalink
    March 2, 2013 05:15

    Having dated as a grown-up, I can say that not all the good ones are taken. But there’s a very good reason for that saying.

  3. March 2, 2013 07:49

    But the joke’s on you because that man was Mr. Jon Bon Jovi.

  4. March 2, 2013 10:18

    Hilarious, Sue Bob. Very funny, but perhaps a little painful for me personally. First, knowing you’re being a whore by dating other guys. Secondly, I’m reading this with my morning coffee, just before…band practice. Yeah, some guys in AA and I have a little garage band called “The Sots.” I’m “the singer.” Major cringe. Oh God, it’s such a farce! My greatest hope is that we never actually land a gig anywhere, ever, so I never have to take the stage. What kind of a loser, 50-year-old man, still sings in a garage band? I guess one that is still scrambling to find things to do that don’t include drinking himself into a pants-pissing oblivion. On the plus side, none of our catalog of toe-tappers include anything remotely resembling classic rock. I also shave and brush my teeth before every practice. I mean, I shave my face, then brush my teeth. I don’t shave my teeth.
    Do you still want to go out sometime?

  5. March 3, 2013 13:00

    I think you need to reset the bar so that not calling you a whore isn’t the basis for a gold star. No name-calling. Basic hygiene. Non-delusional. Seems like pretty realistic expectations to me.

  6. mar permalink
    March 5, 2013 07:13

    Wow, just wow. Thanks for going into the fray to regale us with your dating tales.
    Also, I think you look cute as a ballerina. 🙂

  7. March 5, 2013 19:38

    This totally cracked me up.

  8. March 7, 2013 12:41

    I don’t understand dating. Well…actually I think I might. Dating is what you do with the guy that totally doesn’t have anything in common with you, the guy you know nothing will happen with.

    And they give you great stories to tell.

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