too old to care

While driving into work today I had this great idea: record a solo album of punk/folk/rock songs, accompanied only by a guitar—alternating between electric and acoustic, just to keep it interesting. Rather than pretending to be something I wasn’t, I’d be exactly who I was, hence the title “too old to care”. I would not be as melancholic as Elliott Smith, nor as British as Billy Bragg, nor as fanciful as Robyn Hitchcock, nor as self-consciously abstract as Robert Pollard.

Of course, if I were to be exactly who I was, I wouldn’t be able to play guitar, write songs or sing, except to the radio blaring in Mass Pike rush hour traffic. The fantasy evaporated along with the reception about halfway through the Ted Williams Tunnel.

And so it went.

Except for this: the next time someone tells me that I’m too old to be singing “Pawn Shoppe Heart”, I’ll tell them that I’m too old to care...