OK. I have just learned that being a musician, having guitars, and wearing cool shoes will not, repeat not, prolong youth or slow the aging process.
I saw a picture of myself. It was a shock. The back of my head, which was full of abundant hair long after my friends lost theirs, is now a rather seedy-looking, disorganized, empty lot lot sprouting the occasional weed, The once defined jawline has disintegrated into a disgusting gorgle of something that causes the whole front of my face to be attached directly to my chest without any sign of a neck!
Everything that I could once identify as my nose, eyes and other features are now like melted silly putty.
This is extremely embarrassing. I was wondering how it is that suddenly I could walk down the street, and not be recognized, asked for autographs, and be hit on by strange women. Or even regular women. Or even grandmas...Now I know.
I think I'd better have a plan. A rock and roll old age home. Where geezers spend the few moments they can stand up without falling over playing their guitars loudly (so they can hear them) and can get together with friends who share their interests. Where the sight of a wheeled walker with an attachment to hold the guitar wouldn't be all that unusual.
Where a drool cup can also serve as a place to store picks.
Where a drummer can have his drum rack on wheels. Even though he can't lift the sticks, he can still use it as a walker. And salvage some of his coolness.
Where wheeled guitar cabs are also attached to chairs with wheels.
Where the phrase, "That Old Time Rock And Roll" has added significance.
I'm ready to check in now. Time has come today.