rolled trousers

I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.

~ T.S. Eliot going off about that Prufrock fellow

My dad spent a lot of his life working in the music business, and his tenure intersected with a particularly interesting chapter of that business, so it’s not uncommon for him to lob out a story that involves immediately recognizable players. The stories are always relevant to the context at hand, but they’re usually too brief for my liking.

Like the one where he was hanging out at the Playboy Mansion in Chicago with Jim Morrison. Just hanging out, after a party had wound down, in the early hours of the morning. And Morrison mentioned that he had just been to see the doctor, and the doc told the 20-something Morrison that he had the body of a 70 year old man.

Morrison died within the year.

“What else did he say, Dad?”
“We talked about a lot of things. We had a great talk.”
And thus ends the story.

Yeah: I know. I’ve told him to write the book. The one that would include the stories about Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix and eating ribs on Nob Hill with Muddy Waters. And he keeps shrugging me off.

But hey, the point of this post is that you too can figure out how old your body is relative to your age – the New York Times serves up all kinds of insight this morning in their piece on Who’s Older, You or Your Body? – which is nearly, sorta, almost as cool.

(But hell if I can find the piece indexed online – Bally Fitness is calling the program RealAge, but I can’t find it on their site either. Oh well. At least I got to tell you the Morrison story.)