See, here is the thing: I’m 60. People who call me old are chronologically correct. I’m not 60 years young. I’m 60 years old. And I am Goddamned proud of if. I’m goddamned proud that I still work with fascinating people and that my age has reached a point where sometimes it is mistaken for wisdom. I am thrilled to have gray hair and the minute this goddamn bald spot gets the size of a silver dollar pancake I’m shaving my head. I will be an old bald guy. No, I’m not wearing a rug or shopping at SHEIN. My Converse have been with me since the 70s, making them as GenX as I am. So get off my lawn.