The Who on the Superbowl

So, I'm rewatching White of the Eye ("I believe in miracles, oh baby... you sexy thing") -- which to my dismay remains unavailable on region 1 DVD; I own a Dutch copy -- but I took a break to see The Who do the Superbowl half-time show.


Am I the only person who wanted to cry? Not that they put on a bad show -- they didn't.
But there's something painful about seeing game-changing musicians rehashing songs that put them on the cultural map 40 years ago.

And now a digression. I just went to the gas station across the street -- staffed entirely, I think, by emigrees from Lagos -- to buy a litre of coca-cola for my better half and the fellow at the window, whom I've seen many times mopping the floors and tidying the shelves, looked at me and said, "You're not American, are you? You're European -- where are you from?"

Odd moment. Because I was born in the United States, but my mother is English and my upbringing was so much more English than American; my nightmares were about Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, not Charlie Manson and his girls. In fact, the first time I heard about Manson's family I was in London... odd. And You Sexy Thing will haunt me forever.