Congratulations.
You are not too old, too unhip, too fat, or too phobic to go to a Tool concert.
You are, however, too old to deal kindly with the pot-smoking drunks below you.
You didn’t say anything, actually, to them, but you didn’t try too hard to stifle a giggle as one began blowing chunks onto the guy below him.
You did feel sorry for the other guy, however. You are, after all, a decent person.
“These damn kids these days,” you complain to your concert mate. “Most of these people weren’t even in elementary school, if that, when Tool first came out.” You gasp as you realize you’re experiencing the sublime metaphysical act of channeling. You’re channeling an ancient, ornery Irishman who calls you such endearments as Swampy and Gypsy and Daughter of the Cock Lady.
Lyrical Fool 