You get to a certain age and your friends stop pretending they never liked Stevie Nicks. I wish I’d never brought it up. It was bad enough hearing how great Heart was. The radio was on some classic rock station in the kitchen as I washed a zillion Thanksgiving dishes a couple nights ago. Eddie Money came on. No. Absolutely not. I reached up with a sudsy hand and switched it off, thinking that in a room full of my old punk rock and jazz buddies, half the punks would confess to always liking that song, and half the jazzers would have been on the session. He seemed like a cool cat, they’d say. I’d relent and let the punk rockers sing Two Tickets to Paradise. Air guitar. Oh god.