By Taylor Long

Back in 1999, Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich wrote an advice column for graduates that spread through the Internet and was turned into a song in 2002 by Baz Luhrmann. Later, ESPN columnist Jim Caple reformed it for graduating, budding pro-athletes. So, I’ve revised it for all of you graduates heading out into the tumultuous world of rock ‘n’ roll.

Graduating rock star hopefuls of the class of 2005: wear Converse.

If I could offer you one tip for the future, Converse would be it. The long-term benefits of wearing Converse can be proven by the fact that they’re the only shoe that looks better the dirtier it gets, whereas the rest of my advice hasn’t been in any Grammy Award acceptance speeches.

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the beauty of your youth and the power of a record deal. Oh, nevermind. You will not understand the beauty of your youth until a lack of sleep, too many drugs, too much alcohol, too many cigarettes and years of touring have made you look like Iggy Pop and Mick Jagger do now, and all your female fans are swooning over a 20-something prodigy who sounds like he hasn’t gone through puberty.

But, trust me, 20 years from now, you’ll look back at your discography and realize everything after your third album was shit, and you really should have held on to your fourth drummer.

You are not as fat as you imagine. In fact, that cocaine diet makes you look like you could use a few hundred big macs.

Don’t worry about the future. Or, worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to compute your gross from record sales by chewing on Mama Cass’ ham sandwich. The real troubles in your life are apt to be the things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Monday, when some lawyer accuses you of ripping off a harmony or two from some band from the ’70s.

Sing. Chicks dig lead singers.

Do one thing on every album that scares you. Gotta keep the fans guessing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people that are reckless with yours. Unless it makes you write better lyrics (and it probably does), in which case, make sure you are continuously breaking hearts and being heartbroken.

Floss. Actually, don’t. Can you name a rock star with good teeth?

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long, and in the end, no one is still sure whether it’s better to burn out or fade away. Either way, it involves a lot of drugs and sex.

Remember good reviews you receive. Discredit the bad ones as being the opinion of some poor critic who’s bitter they weren’t on your guest list.

Keep your first big paycheck. Throw away fan pictures that aren’t nudes.

Stretch. Tour buses and private jets cut off circulation, and you need to be able to do those rockin’ pelvic moves.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. That’s why you got into rock ‘n’ roll in the first place.

Get plenty of calcium. Milk tastes great with Bailey’s.

Maybe you’ll marry an actress, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have kids who will become famous by trading on your last name, maybe you won’t. Whatever you do, congratulate yourself too much. You’re a rock star. Do it while you’ve still got a career.

Enjoy your body. Your groupies do. They’ll enjoy it even more if you can play several instruments. Guitar is a good place to start. Everyone thinks drummers are stupid and bass is for girls, so pick something a bit more exotic for your second instrument. Maybe piano or even saxophone.

Don’t dance. You’re a tortured genius.

Don’t ask for directions, and don’t follow any, either. Getting lost and meeting strangers makes for better interviews and song-writing material.

Don’t read Rolling Stone. Unless you’re on the cover.

Get to know your parents, then you’ll know what to say you’ve always hated about them.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few, thanks in your liner notes are in order. Song dedications and VIP passes are always appreciated, too. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, ’cause when your garage rock revival album gets mediocre results, you’ll still need people to defend your art and come to parties.

Live in New York City once, but leave when hipsters start calling you sellouts.

Live in California once, but leave before you write a song about it. Songs about California are like bands whose names start with “the.”

Don’t mess with your hair. It’s supposed to look dirty and unkempt, just like the rest of you.

Accept certain inalienable truths. The popularity of hip-hop and pop will rise, downloading will become the future. One of your albums, too, will end up in the $9.99 sale bin. And when it does, claim it was under-appreciated. Or blame a band mate.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is nothing by a form of nostalgia dispensed by those who don’t want to admit that rock ‘n’ roll is dead.

But trust me on the Converse.