I am now exactly three-quarters of the way to middle age. My relevance to anyone under 23 is waning by the nanosecond. My teeth are chipping and rotting because I never developed a flossing habit. My knees make weird cracking sounds when I run up stairs. My eyeglasses prescription gets worse every time I visit my optometrist, which is at Costco. I have a Costco membership. My hair is getting ready to desert me completely any day now, I can just feel it. There are little pieces of grey in my chin stubble, which I notice during those random months when I decide to neglect shaving, to see if I'll be able to pull off the bald/beard combo someday soon (answer: "No."). If the anatomical studies are true, my cursed male nose and ears will never completely stop growing. I should get a tattoo. Or maybe like 45 of them. Tattoo guys are agelessly cool. Then I'll buy a motorcycle. I'll launch a full-fledged surprise attack on this imminent midlife crisis before it strikes like a thief in the night. I've never even been to a strip club...
probably just for the freak show factor.
Nearly all of the photos are by Danny, except for the ones that are obviously not his, and the three photos of Craig drawing onstage in Paris are by Pierre-Yves Arnoux, the three photos of the guys in Nuremburg (playing on a nice red carpet) are by Alexander Puchta, and the photo of Tu Fawning is by Alicia J. Rose.