Age is fascinating, a comical miasma eclipsing all physical demographics. Speaking only for men, the head and face of the male species after 70 or 75 years becomes a catchers mitt replica of the once youthful face of 30 or 40, unrecognizable most times but oddly endearing in a rather pre-historic way. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection at 2 or 3 in the morning scuttling in and out of the bathroom, I have a gusty cackle at the fleeting image of the Doofy mug attached to my shoulders that I immediately give some silly deprecating name like IGGY CONATZ, OR SWIFTY BOLICHECK, making me laugh even harder as I collapse back into bed like a terminal grunting mutt. Then of course there's the grooming process that takes place in the 8 or 9 o'clock hours to get the aged husk ready for the day; Oh thats a trip studs and kitties as you well know, to whip and mold like a large lump of baggy clay the meat house into something acceptable that won't sent a passerby screaming down the street in fear and disbelief at what they just saw. OVER DRAMATIC am I ??, Yes !!, a wee bit, but lets face it, life is slap stick, a roaring comedy in which we pretend for a short time we are Gods and Goddesses before our forms become collapsing bags of sallow derma where we spend an inordinate amount of time attempting to mold it into some sort of shape that will last at least one more day.. I have earned every wrinkle, liver spot, dent, scar, defoliation, gimp, limp, hobble, and crooked grin that goes with living like the Troubadour Gypsy King I've aspired to be for 60 years or more with out personal recrimination or chastisement of any sorts, in other words, I happy in my mottled skin, I know who I am, and if I appear to look like a crazed Stork ten years from now, as long as I'm standing there singing my guts out honestly with paramour sincerity, then who cares !! My last record will be called, THE GOLDEN HITS OF GOPHER BOY. :)