A couple of days ago, my apartment neighbor came home at 3:45 in the morning and cranked up the music. I was asleep on my couch at the time, but I--after the initial jolt awake and subsequent prowling from border to border of the four rooms in my apartment to figure out where exactly the music was coming from--finally, upon placing an ear against my bedroom wall, learned that it was the guy next door.
I was pissed at the disturbance, sure, but also curious about what someone was so unselfconsciously (i.e., drug-addledly) playing at that hour. Sure 'nuff: Pink Floyd. Once I pressed my ear to my bedroom wall, I heard every tortured note of "Comfortably Numb." Followed a half-hour later by a very loud version of Willie Nelson's "Always On My Mind." With a bunch of other emo notes in between.
How I know I'm middle-aged? I, while being annoyed at being woken up, simultaneously smirked at the emotional young man's late-night song choices: "God... Pink Floyd! Please! How 1980s!" And "Jesus... How often has 'Always On My Mind' been played when you're tortured in love? Is that all you got?" :)
The next day at work, I expressed my irritated amusement to a co-worker. He replied: "You're quite the Grand Dame!" Which reminded me of something my mother said to me a few months ago when I was expressing my political opinions: "The way you talk, you should be rich."
That I have the cool attitude with my own personal lowly circumstances is the Grand Irony, I suppose.