There’s this misconception in the Fox household: I’m not hip.
OK, maybe I’m not as hip as I once was, but I was hip. Doesn’t that count for anything?
We just finished watching “Across the Universe.” Stef had seen it once before and wanted Helaine and me to see it too.
Helaine liked it. I did not.
Abba’s “Dancing Queen,” with better music and a darker plot line was my first thought. That’s much too simple assessment, I suppose. Still, this seemed more concept driven than plot driven.
Maybe I also reacted to this treatment of a life I knew. What fulfilled me then, today I find somehow hollow.
So much of that movie was my life. Of course, it isn’t my life anymore.
Maybe my age driven change from who I was in the sixties is why I couldn’t enjoy what I watched?
I lived through the sixties. I went to the Fillmore East and hung out in the Village. I marched against the war in New York, Boston and Washington. My hair was long and pockets empty.
I was young and idealistic. I was frightened of the life I faced, even without Vietnam. But I was hip. I understood the culture as it was. And I was right in the middle of it.
Life is organic. It unfolds around you. You don’t necessarily choose to participate. You are chosen.
That’s what I didn’t understand back then. Who you become is based on what you experience. So my experience changed me as our culture evolved in its own way.
So, yeah, I am hip. But I’m hip in a 1969 kind of way.