MJ, Lolla, and everything in between
[READER]( The Daily Reader August 8, 2023 Took a ride on a time machine the other day, and man, what a bumpy ride it was . . . It started innocently enough. My wife and I went downtown to see MJ, the musical about Michael Jackson currently at the Nederlander Theatre on Randolph. The place was packed, crawling with boomers and a few older Gen Xers. My verdict on the show is mixed. On one hand, it’s one of the most dishonest musicals I’ve ever seen in that it avoids the issue of whether Jackson was a pedophile. I mean, the musical doesn’t even mention the controversy. On the other hand . . . Oh, my goodness, the choreography, singing, staging, and costumes were spectacular. In particular, actor Roman Banks as Michael Jackson was sensational. I burst out of that theater singing songs like “I Want You Back,” “Man in the Mirror,” “They Don’t Care About Us,” and “Thriller” that were echoing in my mind as I exchanged high fives with other boomers who shared my bliss. I was bouncing like it was the early 80s and I owned the world. Up State to Lake and up the stairs to the el platform . . . where, what did I see? A car packed—I mean, bodies wedged next to bodies—with Gen Zs and millennials. Oh, no—I forgot! It was day one of Lollapalooza. And, coincidentally, both shows let out at around the same time. I looked at those Lolla kids in all their glorious youth and, suddenly, I fast-forwarded out of the 80s into real time, and I felt like I was 152 years old. Give or take a year or two. My wife and I wedged into the back of the last car on the train, some Z’s elbow in my ear. I've been down this Lolla road before. That is, riding the Lolla train out of the Loop. And this wasn’t as bad as nights in past years. I’ve shared the train with muddy Lolla-ites, sopping wet from the rain. And drunken Lolla-ites, passing around their bottles. And boisterous Lolla-lites, yelling and screaming with delight. This bunch was relatively subdued. No one offered my wife or I a seat. Which could be a good thing. As in, we look so fit for our age that they figured, “Man, these old-timers don’t need to sit.” Or it could mean they don’t see us at all. As in, you become invisible to the young after you reach a certain age. I used my invisibility to do some reconnaissance. Started playing a game: what high school are they from? The shirtless kid—yes, he was bare-chested—went to Francis Parker, I guessed. After all, he got off at Armitage. And the girl who was reading aloud the incoming texts from her phone? “Oh, my God, listen to this one!” She went to St. Ignatius—at least, she was wearing a St. Ignatius T-shirt. And the girl who screamed, “One time in band camp . . .”? Just kidding. That line is from an old movie. I wondered . . . does this scene on the train count as one of those teen rampages the media is always warning us about? Nah, everyone’s white. So I guess this is more of a “happy teens just having fun” moment. Suddenly, I had enough of being the old guy on the train and I wanted to go back in time to a Kool & the Gang concert at Navy Pier in 1982. But, alas, the time machine was out of rides. So I just got off at my stop and made the long walk home.
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