As a lad, mimicking Morrissey was my, erm... modus operandi, so-to-speak. From the first semester of Secondary straight through until my dying days at York University, I simply worshiped the man. I donned a dyed black abstract quiff, similar to his at his height (yes, pun intended) and I'd have "Louder Than Bombs" blast away within some rather acoustically capital, skull vaulted grey matter simply to soundtrack any given day. Indeed I - like many others at the time - thought him the most stylish, charming, witty and handsome rock star the world had ever known.

I remember paraphrasing excerpts from "Morrissey: In His Own Words" religiously and falling asleep nightly to "Hatful Of Hollow", "The Queen is Dead" and "Kill Uncle", as well as a host of other great (and not so great) solo efforts post "Viva Hate". When magazines would come out and onto bookstore shelves with his face splashed across their covers I remember getting just as excited about buying those glossy monthlies as I would be over buying the album he was being interviewed to trumpet; simply because I held his wit and humour in such high regard. I'm telling you, at one point in my life he could do no wrong and I swear, my love for the man and his work actually started to frighten me a tad, as I became a grown man still obsessed with his teen-aged idol. Quite frankly, without a word of a lie I thought surely I'd be in therapy if I ended up in my thirties still enwrapped in that same sort of insane, pubescent loyalty. Luckily, that didn't happen but sadly, it was because his legacy, as well as his God-like stature began to deteriorate before me.

Sub-par albums and aging before the world's eyes aside, I think what really got me to thinking I was outgrowing the man -- and on a multitude of levels -- was simply in reading some of his pedomorphic proclamations. Truly, and though I'd let the odd one slide, it became obvious he had surrounded himself with weak-kneed sycophants (who were simply too worried about losing their jobs with the man to ever dare call him on his growing stupidity) and consequently had apparently stopped maturing at some point in his thirties. So after acknowledging this, well... I actually grew to feel quite sorry for him. How could I not? I mean honestly, for a person to be kept at a safe distance from the real world for the better part of two decades is, well... rather sad. Oh but that said, how such people let the world know about just how detached they are is even more heart-breaking.

His fans are now largely in their thirties and forties, and have undoubtedly matured as they've grown. They most probably see the world for what it is in 2007 and of course, many of them have spawned children. Yes, and I'm sure these fans with newly hatched families have been forced to mellow and become more tolerant of the world and it's nuttiness. So, that said, I'm sure if whilst cooking dinner and greying Sally-loves-the-Smiths heard her child prance in, claiming the Canadian Government is worse than Nazi Germany for its treatment of baby seals, she'd most probably salt the boiling water, then sit down and have a polite, yet educational talk with little Walter-knows-not-much. I'm sure that she'd let lil' Wally know he's being ignorant and hypocritical to want to sing and dance in Iran, while at the same time wanting to boycott Canada. So why then can't Moz see just how ridiculous he's being?

Passing that, he still slams other artists in a remarkably childish fashion. Calling his former idol David Bowie David Showie... what the fuck is that? Who in their forties says such a thing, genuinely thinking they're being clever and quick on their feet? Honestly, such popsicle humour is what one would expect from children, for that's what children do. Indeed, they take a kids last name and think of words that rhyme, and presto... you've got an insult! Oh so clever, if you're just out of diapers, but really... I'd expect more from a man who's been on this earth for nearly a half century.

So right, it's truly sad watching a one-time brillaint artist fall in such a fashion, and before the world's eyes but still I do, though quite frankly I shouldn't. Seriously, it's wrong for me to continue feeding into his adolescent ramblings (which are now guised as old man grumpiness) and for me to continue buying his music, which is oft turtle-paced wit over bland, beat-less tunes, would be me giving the "thumbs up" to his miserably childish behaviour, which I won't do anymore.

Indeed, it's sad when we outgrow our teen-aged heroes but still, that doesn't mean we can't look back on what was with great love now, does it? I hope not, for twenty and thirty something Morrissey charm, style and wit is still something an average mortal can only hope to parrot, even if forty something Morrissey is something many of us can only pray to forget.

Wondering if there's another word for Thesaurus,

Haze / Sullen