Aging Rocker Stricken with Dementia?

Bruce Springsteen Confused as to His Own Whereabouts'

AUBURN HILLS MICHIGAN - There I was on Friday the 13th trying to break the bad juju of the day at the Palace of Auburn Hills to see the 60 year old rocker Bruce Springsteen on tour where then Mr. Springsteen made his presence known out on the stage by yelling out, "Hello, Ohio!". "Hello Ohio", Huh? What? Confused indeed I was, but non the less I simply dismissed it to what must be any front man's worse nightmare. We all make mistakes and surely Bruce was not an exception. At least he did not shout -- BINGO! --.

But within the next several moments or so of the concert, "The Boss" made several more references to Michigan's buckeye'd neighbors down in Ohio. He mumbled something about being part of the Underground Railroad back in the day and helped Afro-Americans escape the South. I do not know, like I said, he was mumbling.

Had I missed and not heeded the advice of the concerts MC announcement of -- Don't take the brown acid -- it's not good -- it's a bad trip man -- do not take the brown acid --, just like at Woodstock? Where the hell was I? Did I have a flash back of some sort or forget about getting baked somewhere along I-75 and started to-jones for Buffalo Wings & Rings and made a run for the Toledo Ohio boarder?

Or was it fumes from an also aging fan-base swathed in Ben-Gay that replaced the dank odor of reefer so typically prevalent at concerts cloud my mind? You -- bet -- your -- sweet -- aspirin -- cream! No -- no -- no, this was not me man.

Apparently the Boss was confused about his whereabouts and his aging brain was obviously not serving him well and or his mind was left back wondering aimlessly in and out of traffic out on Thunder Road.

It was not until fellow E Street Band mate guitarist Steve Van Zandt informed the Boss by whispering into Bruce's ear of where he was and that his dentures were slipping.

Springsteen appeared to be visibly embarrassed by his lack of cognitive correctness and concurred my silent suspicions by smiling and confessing to the fact: "That is every front man's nightmare" and his mind was elsewhere thinking about doing a -- snappy little Polka -- he learned from Lawrence Welk when he use to warm-up for his orchestra.

This indeed was a mistake but it only left me to ponder how many more concert tours will aging rockers like Bruce Springsteen continue on before they subject themselves to indignant mistakes like these or soil themselves.

Will we be held a captive audience to these geriatric rockers for not only a concert performance but possibly an actual slip and fall accident resulting in a broken hip and as an added bonus a titanium replacement operation? The Boss could easily charge -- say like -- a $1000 a ticket for something like that and start padding his IRA. Wait a minute -- now I am losing my marbles -- that was Ticketmaster that was raking allot of people over the coals for those newfangled concert tickets. No Jelly-O for you!

Better yet will the equally-elder fan-base be adorned with Medical ID bracelet's as to show they are allergic to Penicillin instead of the braided hemp wrist-cuffs. The leather surfer lanyard's around the necks of teenagers replaced by that of Medic-Alert necklaces worn just like the one C. Everett Koop wears too, you know the dude on the commercial, he's the Amish looking Ex-Surgeon General of the Regan Administration.

Maybe the venue's concourse will be filled with rows of quarter operated blood-pressure machines, and instead of local rock radio stations passing out free promotional wares we will have AARP passing out their bumper stickers and samples of Poly-Grip. They could have vendors offering bunion removals and under-garment protection products too. No more long lines at the bathroom to contend with and that would be just, "Jim Dandy", as the old folks would say and they would not have to leave the front-row action. Maybe even have group oxygen tents for Grandpa and his posse', -- yup -- yup --.

The refreshment stands could place faux crystal dishes of hard Christmas candy out, which would be
-- no doubt -- fused together in one heaping mess and offer bowls of creamed corn and cups of steaming hot Joe (10% discount w/ AARP card). Only time will tell and I am left with the thoughts and visions of stage dives committed off of walkers that will only render the cries of, "I've fallen and I can't get up!", by an elderly woman in a floral print house-dress that reads, "I F'd Mozart!", printed on the back.