NEVER TOO OLD

The broken tie rod should've been a warning- watch the ice! When I was 25 years old and punk rock came around, I made the big mistake of thinking "I'm too old for this". I stuck to my art pieces and did some good unfashionable work in the 70's involving tattoos, hookers and even cows, but it wasn't until I was well into my thirties that I tried music. With no musical training and what most would consider very little talent, I grabbed the microphone, wrote some songs and formed my own band PURPLE GEEZUS. To all you kids and even old farts out there who are bored with your plight, start a fucking rock band. It taught me a powerful lesson. You are never too old for anything that doesn't involve physical activity.
    The qualification comes on the heels of my recent trip to the roller rink for SLICK AND ZEV'S SPECIAL K ROLLER RAMA. I've never been much of an athlete. I played Little League and wrestled in high school (until being booted for smoking), but that was about it. I'm no sports fan. I'll save my fantasies for something other than football. So when Slick told me he was hosting another night at SKATE WORLD, one of the funkiest, lost in a Catskill time warp scenes, I wasn't sure I wanted to lace up the skates.  But then I remembered my lost opportunity during SF's punk rock hay day. OK. I'm in. Save me some K.
   I grabbed my party pants and Shewho and off we went. I never skated as a kid, but last summer, after about an hour or so on the rink I was no longer clutching the rail. Little by little I got the hang of it. Look, none of that fancy backwards shit, but I could round the floor without ridicule. This time I was gliding easily in 15 mins. An hour in and I was picking up speed. Polly Ester blasted from the sound system and I was feeling it. GNJohn and Buddy Budde wizzed past me hand in hand. What a beautiful couple. Spangles and spandex on leggy girls caught the disco lighting. A big shit eating grin on my face I............felt like I hit a patch of ice...... my feet flew out from under me and when I landed my left leg stuck out like a seal's flipper. Little flashes of disco ball danced across my party pants. All I could see was wheels 6 inches from my nose. Finally some stranger stopped to see if I was alright? I shook my head in pain. NO I WASN'T ALRIGHT. I was a fucking idiot.
    Back on the sidelines, skates off, a free beer in hand, (one with every injury) I broke into a cold sweat.  I could barely bend my knee. Then I had an epiphany- maybe I was too old. How could I risk my mobility at work, in a tree stand, crossing a frozen swamp, dragging a big buck for a few fleeting moments with a bunch of K'd up hipsters in spandex? Sunday I spent flat on my back, eating Motrin, icing up the knee. This morning I hobbled out of the nest only to endure Al B's giggling smirk at 6:30 AM when I told him just why I couldn't make it in. I'm still not convinced it's really an age issue. I guess that's a sign of my persistent immaturity. But from now on I am going to cut out roller skating and maybe water skiing. Tonight THE BAND OF ALL FAITHS is coming over to rehearse some old PURPLE GEEZUS material for THE END OF THE WORLD CHURCH. If I could only remember those dance moves. Hope they are bringing the K.