What she said.

I was disappointed to learn that Grossinger's and The Concord closed over a decade ago. Not that I ever would have gone to either again... or could have afforded to. They were places were I sowed some of the wild oats (what does that mean, "wild oats"?) of my youth, when the corporation I worked for, Syracuse Vending, took us annually to one or the other for "Singles Weekend". Culinary missteps aside, there were many adventures to be had. One girl invited me to NYC to see an original cast performance of "Man of La Mancha", but I was slow to recognize opportunity in those days.

Which is why I didn't go to the Woodstock, even though a couple of the guys I worked with practically begged me to accompany them. I liked C&W, so going to a rock concert halfway across the state made little sense to me at the time. Finally, 41 years later, I did make it to Woodstock, and BLECCH!

In 1969 Woodstock was a sleepy farm town. Now it's a tinny tourist trap, replete with graying geezers hobbling down the streets with canes and their thinning gray hair tortuously pulled into meager pony tails. Those are hippies? Not likely. It's hard to imagine many of those heroic dreamers and stoners from back in the day wanting to roam streets filled with T-shirt shops, souvenir stores, and gaping, loud, rude visitors. Well, it's hard for me to imagine, anyway.

(Okay, I was a bit harsh. Not all of the tourists actually gaped.)