An old head's view of the 'me generation'

I'm feeling incredibly old. Even more so after a weekend trip to the Borgata in Atlantic City. Maybe it was the fact that we were halfway there when I realized I did not have my wallet with me. Of course you need an ID to check in. Luckily, they took the info from my wife. But it's really more than that. Let me try to explain. I'm not much of a casino fan. For starters, I don't gamble. Sure, I'll buy a lottery ticket or take part in a Super Bowl block pool or some other type of sports bet, but I don't play poker. Nor blackjack.

At least I can understand the card games. I have no idea what is going on - nor what is the allure - with slot machines. So you might wonder what I was doing celebrating my wedding anniversary at the Borgata this weekend.I didn't go there to gamble. My wife and I went there to see one of our (OK, it's really mine) favorite bands, Hall and Oates. More on that in a minute.

First, let me talk about the casino. I didn't realize you were still allowed to smoke in casinos. The smell is overpowering, hitting you as soon as you walk into the place. The people who design these places - with the exception maybe of the people who did the troubled Revel - are not dummies. The idea is to get you into the casino - and keep you there.

You can't do anything without going through the casino. The sound alone of all those slot machines is enough to send me to the exits.

That, in effect, is part of the problem I had with the Borgata. Unless you gamble, there is not much else you can do. It's almost like you're a prisoner. At least when you're in town, you can hit the beach or stroll the boardwalk.

No such luck - literally! - at the Borgata. There really is no place to walk, unless you want to take a stroll in the street. So my wife would go round and round the perimeter of the casino.

There's something incredibly sad and depressing about looking at all these people sitting in front of those slot machines for hours on end. Many of them are senior citizens. I suppose they are looking for something to do. I couldn't help but wonder how many of them could not afford to lose the money they were pumping into those machines.

At least I had the concert to look forward to, or at least I thought I did.

I guess I should have expected to be disappointed. As much as I like their music, I don't particularly care for their "greatest hits." I don't need to hear 'Sara Smile,' 'Rich Girl,' or 'Kiss on Your List' again. I guess they feel compelled to play them, and they did.

I would much rather hear their lesser known songs, including my two favorites, "Throw the Roses Away" and "It's a Laugh," neither of which made the list.

Don't get me wrong, even though the sound was not great in the Events Center, they were excellent, with one drawback. Maybe I've been spoiled by The Boss, Bruce Springsteen, but for $80 I was expecting more than a little more than an hour of songs and then two encores, especially since they were essentially on their home turf.

But that was not my real problem with the concert, nor the thing that left me with an especialy bad taste in my mouth about the whole weekend.

That honor would be reserved for the three guys who sat directly behind us.

I guess I should have seen what was coming when the first thing one of these loudmouths bellowd to his buddies was, "I think we're the only ones under 60 in here." Uh, yeah, you went to a Hall and Oates show, what exactly were you expecting?

I was tempted to turn around and inform this guy that I first saw them before he was born, at the legendary Stone Balloon in Newark, Del., in 1978.

It only got worse. These guys insisted on singing along with the band - at the top of their lungs. I did not pay to hears this trio screaming in my ear. I kind of wanted to hear the band. Of course, between every song they needed to shout out what they wanted to hear from the H&O hit list.

I especially appreciated their liberal use of the F-bomb that littered their language. The capper was when one dolt, swaying to the music, spilled his beer on my wife's back. She was not amused.

I found myself thinking about something I had written last week, how we are becoming a much more coarse society. These guys would Exhibit A.

But I actually think it's more than that.

These guys were not there to see a concert. They were there to be seen. They were the show, at least in their world. Every time they would shuffle down the aisle to refill on beers, they insisted on stopping and dancing in front of the crowd. It was star time. It was all about them. Who cares who they inconvenienced, or who they offended. They were the show, and they took great joy in mocking anyone who did not join them, noting they did not realize they were in the "church section."

I'm not much for concerts any more. Now I know why.

I likely will not be going back to Borgata any time soon. With the exception of Springsteen, I can't see me taking in a lot more concerts either.

Maybe I'm just old.

The rules have changed. Everyone wants to be a star, to claim their 15 minutes of fame, to get their own reality TV show. I'm glad these guys enjoyed themselves.

That makes one of us.