"The concert I saw in Miami was very different. For one thing, it started on time, because if it hadn't, one of the estimated 13,000 attorneys in the audience would have filed a lawsuit. Also it was a much older crowd, a lot of middle-aged soft-rockers like myself, stylishly decked out in our casual-wear beepers, taking bold swigs of Diet Pepsi. Sure, some of us were high, but it was not so much the high of ingesting hallucinogenic substances as the high of knowing you had a babysitter on a weekday night. But the most striking difference, for me, was in the Stones themselves. I had remembered them as awesome, larger-than-life, near-mystical figures, so I was filled with anticipation when, two decades later, I took my seat high in the upper deck of the Orange Bowl in Miami. My excitement mounted as the stadium darkened, and the giant speakers started playing dramatic buildup music, and clouds of smoke poured out onto the stage. And then, when the crowd was about to explode with excitement, there was a blinding flash of light, and we heard the slashing, driving opening guitar riff of "Start Me Up," and suddenly, out of the darkness, came... these little teeny Rolling Stones. Maybe 14 inches tall. Talk about your comical letdowns. They looked like the Decadent Rock Band Action Figure Set from Toys "R" Us. I realize that this impression was partly due to the altitude of my seat, but it also had something to do with getting older. It's one thing when you're 19 and unemployed and mad at the world, and the Stones are these godlike outlaw rebels; but it's a whole different thing when you have a family and a mortgage and disability insurance, and the Stones have become essentially a corporation whose members are the same average age as the justices of the U.S. Supreme Court."