As I sit here and worry about the babies in Gaza, it's hard to consider that the world is a better place than the one that I came into. If you're not careful, they'll make you cynical.
Most of my friends agree that the planet would be better run by dogs. There are plenty of sweet, kind folks around. Not many of them serve in politics. I'll leave it to you to decide whether religious leaders deserve salaries with all those zeroes. Don't get me started on the art treasures in the Vatican and evangelical activity in American affairs of state.
It has taken me all these years to understand that rock'n'roll, like all popular culture, served as a distraction to a world of trouble. Somewhere along the line, some trouble-making kid took Chuck Berry's relatively harmless "Too Much Monkey Business" and sang about bad working conditions and income inequality and insisted that he wasn't going to work on Maggie's gol-darned farm.
Well, you still had professional sports and television to keep the public in that daze. With sex as the secret sauce, tastemakers around the world worked tirelessly to keep our noses to the grindstone. Once the internet paired with cell phones, the fix was in.
Cheaters still win. War is bigger than ever. Any notion of world peace seems quaint, naive.
Somehow I remain hopeful. I don't miss a moment. It's all about love. You do what you can. All you need is love. Maybe this stuff will catch on. It's come in and out of fashion during my time here.