Madonna, Ingrate

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," strolling through the years with gratitude for (almost) all of them! I'm Anne Johnson, a woman of a certain age. Glad to be alive!

I'm very, very, very behind in my blogging. I wanted to make some sweeping statements about a New York Times Magazine article called "Madonna at 60." A New York Times reporter spent a few days biffing around with Madonna to see what her life is like now, after all. these. years.

After reading it, Madonna said that she felt "raped." She was furious that the author of the article made so many references to her age, which ... you guessed it! ... is 60.

One could have some sympathy for aging pop singers, if not for the fact that said singers have made bank and are rolling in the ducats. If your career requires you to be come-hither sexy, and you suddenly find yourself north of the mid-century mark, you must feel a tad taken aback. But OH WELL, hon, you're rich! Get over yourself.

It happens that I am the same age as Madonna. Almost exactly. When I was in my 20s, I dressed like her and strutted my stuff, wore a kerchief around my curly locks, the whole bit. Then I moved on through the ups and downs of my 30s and 40s, a young mother ... then a mature mother ... with keening passions and deep loves. I dumped my religion and found another. I lost my career and found another. I've struggled with my weight, and yes, my age. But not to the point where the very mention of it is anathema to me.

I called this post "Madonna, Ingrate" because it seems to me she's as thoughtless at 60, yes the BIG 6-0 as she was through the rest of her years. She and I are part of a cohort. Maybe she has forgotten.

*Michael Jackson, born 1958
*Princess Diana, born 1961
*Prince, born 1958

Lordy, Lordy. I'm still breathing! And so is Madonna! Think of poor Princess Diana! And while it's impossible to muster a lot of sympathy for Michael Jackson, it does sound like his last days were Hell on Earth. The talented Prince, gone. No longer breathing.

It's a gift to live to be 60, and it's also a gift to do it gracefully. Grandmothers, crones, wise women -- call them what you will -- can still be sexy and daring, but it should be a different kind of sexy and daring. The time to strut around in lingerie and red lipstick is over, but life isn't over. Loving a partner isn't over. It should have evolved, though. These things should never be static.

So, Madonna, can we talk as contemporaries? You're rich as fuck, you're breathing, and you have a family. Bid the spotlight farewell and retire to a well-earned hammock, there to read some improving book. Be like me! Change careers, not because you want to, but because you have to! Time marches on. Aren't we lucky to be marching still?

Gosh, it's the most common joke you hear about aging: Consider the alternative. Madonna, consider. Seriously.  The Grim Reaper ain't at your door, and you should be thankful for that.