Every year, classic rock should have a Shirley Jacksonesque “Lottery” of sorts, wherein the tiredest crap is trotted out, thrown into a large pool, and selected at random for public stoning until it is dead.
What led me on this Steve Miller diatribe? I was sitting at the bar at the Nite Cap, minding my own business, when I heard “The Joker” come on the jukebox. “Someone played Steve Miller on purpose?” I said out loud, turning around to gape. Unfortunately, the guy who programmed it was standing right behind me, having just stepped away from the scene of the non-accident. He gave me a sheepish look bordering on defiance. He was assessing whether he should defend himself in the wake of my (admittedly) snotty comment. Seeing that I looked like someone who probably had a wealth of jerkoff opinions on the subject, he instead put his beer bottle to his lips and backed away.