As I approach grumpy old manhood, I have come to learn to embrace male pattern baldness and phrases like “Gitoffamylawn!”
I’m also beginning to not dig concerts like I used to, preferring to live in the studio-enhanced fantasy of tight vocals for a fraction of the cost.
And what’s up with them incandescent plastic roses they sell there?
And the airbrushed urban backdrops in front of which people pose for a $5 polariod.
can’t knock the hustle…