Everybody's been crowin' this week about the anniversary of the original Woodstock, the three days of peace and love in upstate New York that had nothing to do with Mel Brooks or heart-shaped hot tubs.
I’ll admit that wild August weekend in ‘69 was a watershed moment for the decade, right up there with the debut of “The Munsters” in ‘64 and the introduction of Tupperware to Europe in 1960. However, for people like me who were raised in the ego-driven era of Atari, Michael J. Fox, and Garfield coffee mugs, Woodstock was just another lifeless entry in our history books (like Teapot Dome with a few stray, blurry boobs). Besides, they couldn’t even get Tommy James and the Shondells to show up at that bitch. What kind of drug-infused hippie festival were they trying to run over there?
