The Gay Uncle happens to live about ten minutes away from the site where the fabled Woodstock concert took place. For those of you who don’t know (or care) this is in a town in Western Sullivan County a good 75 minutes away from the actual village of Woodstock. Now on the site is a beautiful outdoor concert venue with seats for some 15,000 ticketed concertgoers, where, over the past few summers, Gunc was “fortunate” enough to see lame acts like Earth Wind & Fire (shot voices, sucky choreography) and Donna Summer (shot voice, sucky choreography, embarrassing props and costumes). This weekend, there’s some sort of Woodstock Reunion event going on over there. The G.U. hates hippies–both the vintage, and the neo- varieties–and he doesn’t happen to think that Richie Havens, the surviving members of Jefferson Airplane, or anyone who was ever in Sha Na Na qualify for the category of musical genius, nor would he pay money to see them wheel themselves about the stage in their motorized chairs or walkers. He also thinks that day-long outdoor concerts constitute a form of torture tantamount to waterboarding, but practiced with immersion in sun, overpriced wrap sandwiches, and smelly attendees. Finally, and more in connection with this site, he’s sick of hearing about how a baby (or maybe 2 or 3) was born during this disgusting, indulgent, Baby-Boomer mud-fest. The Gay Uncle was also born in 1969. He knows his generation’s penchant for obscure forms and sources of fame. If any kid actually slithered out of his mother’s vag during that concert, he or she would have turned up online, in a band, or on some third-rate, D-list celebrity reality show by this point. Also: Who cares?
In honor of the 40th anniversary, Gunc would like to say this: Fuck Woodstock! Can we all stop talking about it now?