Dear Adam,
Let me just say right off the bat that I love you. So much. You are perpetually on the top of my “Get Out of Marriage Free” list.
And that’s why I want you to call my husband.
It’s an odd request, I know, but he is part of the Crossfit Cult. He can help you.
Why?
Because this is how you looked the last time in concert:
And this is how you looked Saturday night at the concert in New York City:
That cummerbund is hiding something I never thought you would have.
I’m not trying to be unkind. This is your first U.S. tour in 17 years. I know you took time off to deal with some personal issues.
I just don’t think you were (or are) taking very good care of yourself. You shouldn’t be winded by the second song. Your leaps and high kicks have become an Ed Grimley-style side twist. Your voice sounded like Marge Simpson’s sisters at certain points. I mean, the audience had to help out with “Beat my Guest,” for crying out loud.
This is not to say it wasn’t a fantastic show. It was. Absolutely. It was just hard to reconcile the Adam I remember with the current you. Granted, you could accuse me of carrying around a little more me also. Touché.
But you are in your late 50s now, and I want you to be healthy so you can do what you love: Create music and perform for fans. (And I still want to meet you.)
So, do us all a favor and call Eddie. He can help you try another flavor, so to speak. Be the dandy highwayman you once were.
And remember, as Whitney said, “I will always love you.”
Vive le Rock,
One of your most devoted Antpeople
Observe and report 
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