Musings

Quarantine Super Powers

This quarantine has had quite the effect on me. It has altered my lifestyle but it has also given me some gifts. Such as:

1. I now can tell the day of the week by how hard the Sudoku puzzle is in the paper. If it’s an easy one I know it’s Monday. Kind of hard? Hey!! It’s Thursday. I throw the paper across the room in frustration? Hello Saturday!!!

Fun little tidbit.

I taught Ringo how to do Sudoku. I was filling one out one day in the studio and he asked what I was doing. I explained the whole thing to him and he started doing them. I can still only solve easy to moderate puzzles.

Ringo now does Mensa level Sudoku.
Am I a good teacher or what?  You guys should ALL take my songwriting class!

2. I have learned, out of self-preservation, new and fun ways to prepare tuna fish.

When groceries got low we went on a run and bought a buttload of cans of tuna fish. After seven or eight days of eating tuna fish I was forced to be creative. I started adding:

Chopped onion

Sweet relish

Red grapes

Vodka

Maple syrup

Beef

Peanut butter

I think what I’m trying to say is I now officially hate the taste of tuna fish.

3. I have a pass when it comes to yard work or house work or ANY work. When is a good day to do it? Any day. Today. Next week. I should plant some new plants out in the front garden. And a good day to do that would be… who cares. I’m not gonna go out and buy new plants. I refuse to be the guy who died for a ficus.

That’s all for now. It’s lunchtime. Let’s see what’s in the pantry behind these forty seven cans of tuna.

Back to a Carefree Time

What’s going on right now is pretty terrible, right? We are losing people and huddled in our homes trying to be responsible citizens. Georgia and I do our shows on Wednesday nights to give everybody a little dog and pony action. Sitting down to write this isn’t easy today because my fingers all seem to want to gravitate towards the heavy keys.

So I’m going to take you back to a carefree time. We’re going back to the summer before my senior year.

I had signed up for the soccer team at Platt High. I tried to get on the football team. I went to the locker room to suit up and every other kid there looked like my Uncle Luigi. They had more body hair than I knew existed in our age range. They were all twice my size and I knew I’d get hurt. So I gave up.

I tried out for baseball. I had played softball in my neighborhood. I had played wiffleball. How much different could baseball be? The kids in the locker room were the same size as me but they all seemed to exude confidence whereas I was sitting in front of my locker terrified. I went out to the field and the coach hit balls at us.

At us.
Directly AT us!!!
They were missiles!!! The ball was as hard as a rock and it traveled at about a zillion miles an hour. I knew I’d get hurt. So I gave up.

Soccer seemed civilized. It came from Europe where they drank tea and civilized things like that. Turned out I was pretty good at it. I had no idea of the rules but then again our coach seemed to only have a rudimentary grasp of them as well. One of our first scrimmages, I got the ball and cut through the defense like they were freshmen  (they weren’t!!) and almost scored. The coach, I‘m sure, was impressed.

We had one game to go before the school year. What a day. I remember it was a Friday. A game in the late afternoon and a date that night. Probably my first and only date in high school. (I was a slow starter and painfully shy)

The date was with a beautiful girl named Nancy. Nancy and I had worked together the last few summer at the YMCA Day Camp as councilors.

During the game I got the chance to play. I was a halfback. I didn’t know the rules but I knew this: The halfback is NOT suppose to ever be within twenty yards of the goal.Did that stop me?  Nope. I was cocky and ready to impress.

I dribbled through the field just like I did in the scrimmage. I got to the goal. I drew my leg back to kick. I brought my leg forward to kick.

The goalie fell on the ball and my leg at the same time and broke one of them in half.

The sound of the crack was so loud that the other players ran off the field because they thought the referee had fired his starter pistol signaling halftime.

The opposing coach looked at my leg. It was now at a spectacular 45% angle. He said “Son do you have a trick knee?”
I said no.
He said “Well, you do now!”

Everyone laughed and I got up and ran off the field chuckling at his humorous good-natured jibe.
NO I DIDN”T!
I was lying there wailing at the top of my lungs with my leg at a 45% angle!!

They loaded me into a station wagon. My best friend Billy rushed up to the window.
“Tell Nancy I’m sorry….” I sobbed as they loaded me in.

I laid on a gurney in the hallway of the Meriden Wallingford Hospital for about three hours. My Dad showed up. He yelled at the nurses to try to get them to treat me. My Dad was probably secretly proud that I at least got hurt playing a sport. It wasn’t a stamp collecting related injury or something he would have to lie about to his friends. Also, being there at the hospital with me counted as a Father/Son activity.

They knocked me out. My Dad helped them straighten my leg, The health teacher in school told everyone I would never walk normally again. One leg, he said, would always be shorter than the other, so I was doomed to walk in a circle for the rest of my life.

I woke up in a body cast the size of a Buick.

I had to wait another year before I went out on that date with Nancy. (Nothing happened.)

Both legs are the same size so I can walk in a straight line if called upon to do so.

I still enjoy watching soccer and still have no idea of the rules. Off sides? What the hell. Everyone was just running in all directions. Who was off sides. Off  WHAT side?

That’s it. Now I’m going to sit out on my back porch and wonder at how quiet everything is.

Hunkered Down & Ready to Play!

We are hunkered down and we hope you are too. We have enough essential. Our grocery store seems to be restocking well. Georgia and I are actually getting a buttload of work done while we are in isolation. It’s scary but we try not to overdose on the news right now. We sincerely hope you all are staying safe and healthy.

Our show on Stageit last Wednesday went great!!! We had almost 150 people and we hope to have more THIS Wednesday!! Here are some observations:

Laptop cameras LOVE drums. That is why Georgia and I spent most of the show going in and out of focus. The camera spotted those drums and could not look away!!! Next time we are going to put up a backdrop behind us (That’s why the call it a BACK drop. Because it’s behind us. If it was in front of us it would be a front drop. I should just refer to it from now on as a “drop”)

We need to set up several screens for all the different things we need. We need the screen with the camera to be the perfect distance away. Close enough to hear us…but far enough away so I don’t look like Keith Richards. We need another screen so that the messages people send us are legible. Remember the Keith Richards crack?  Well he probably can’t read as well as HE could when he was twenty, either. I need the messages close enough so I can read the names of who’s watching. Those old friends aren’t going to insult themselves.

Making a running order is futile. I think we should just yell, “What y’all want,” like a Cracker Barrel waitress and start playing. Once again this relates to how legible the screen with requests is so that I can perform without my glasses on…so I can fool everyone that I’m much, much younger than I am. Unless glasses are sexy. Are glasses sexy? I don’t get Maxim magazine anymore. What’s the latest poll say?

We need some sexy ass lighting down here in the studio.  One by one we tested every cool lamp we had and they all made us look like we were “LIVE from Chernobyl!!!”

Well, that’s all I got. Tune in Wednesday. 8:30 PM. That’s CST. Nashville time, baby!

We are a work in progress. We have all the time in the world. Ain’t going nowhere. Nothing much to do.

Might as well learn how to be internet rock stars.

The Sixties

The sixties were a long, long time ago. The sixties are currently a dot in our temporal rear view mirrors. The fashion, the politics, the music. The fashions come back around every time someone throws a ironic party and people dig into the bottoms of their closets for their bell bottoms or fur vests. The politics come back around every time a politician does something “Nixonian” (which seems to be every other day lately.)

The music? The music somehow remains vital and relevant. I hear songs on the radio that were created in 1967 and they still sound as good as they did when I heard them blast out of Billy’s 60 Chevy.

But the people that made them? Where are they? Today I spent a little time thinking about all the musicians we lost from that era. I decided that was too depressing. So I started thinking how many of them are still here… on the right side of the grass!!

All the Stones are still here. I mean, Brian Jones died a long time ago but that wasn’t due to aging out. He was probably just too stoned to swim.

Most of the Mamas and the Papas are gone but the pretty one is still here. I don’t think she ever actually sang but admit it…we all bought the albums just to look at her on the covers, right?

Two Beatles are gone. Yes. But we still, amazingly enough, have two perfectly serviceable Beatles left. Beatles!! The guys on the Ed Sullivan Show. Still here. Makes you want to give up meat.

One of the great bands of that era, Traffic? 99% Steve Winwood. And he’s still here! He still sings in the original keys!! He still looks twenty!

We lost two out of three Cream but if you have to have just one left, you gotta admit, you would vote for it to be Clapton.

Here’s an amazing one. The Beach Boys. Show of hands… who would have ever thought that the last Wilson standing would be Brian? I’m not sure he’s aware that he’s standing but he is still breathing and sitting smack dab in the middle of a band playing “Help Me Rhonda” every night. Rhonda is probably dead but Brian is still here. (Yes, I know…Al Jardine sang “Help Me Rhonda.”  I should have said “Good Vibrations,” but “Help Me Rhonda” is a funnier title.)

Who else? Still got one Everly. Still got one Righteous Brother. (They weren’t actually brothers so it’s not genetic.)

Still got Mavis Staples. Still got Robbie Robertson and Garth Hudson. Still got Barry Gibb. Hell, we still got all the letters of CSN &Y!!  (I haven’t checked lately on Crosby so don’t hold me to it)

How about, instead of being sad about the ones we’ve lost, we stop and marvel at the ones that remain. They were blowing our minds 50 years ago and we might still see them crossing against the light on Melrose.

We were warned that just about everything we were doing in the sixties was going to kill us. The people that warned us are gone.

Sly Stone is still here.

Hah.

Who Doesn’t Like Gum?

Well, I did it.

I booked the session for this week. This Thursday we go in and start the record. MY record.

I went with a very stripped down band. I am not even sure what songs I am going to record. I have been writing like a fiend these days. I’m trying to stick to songs that I wrote by myself or wrote with Georgia. We have plenty of those. I have a couple of contenders that I have written with other people. One of them might slip in.

I figure I’ll do about seven songs with full band and then two or three more just acoustic, recorded here at the house.

I usually wait until the record is done before I decide on a name. I wrote a song about my Dad’s business that might make the record. My Dad had his own electrical contracting business the whole time I was growing up. I even worked at the family business for a few years. I was suppose to take the business over at some point but music got in the way. My Dad fought off the unions his whole career. He had a non-union shop but paid his guys really well and was beloved by them all. When his heart started to go bad he sold the business to his foreman. Within a year the union came in. Within another year Burr Electric was out of business.

I was thinking I might call this record Burr Electric.

That would work, right?

The record is a lot of songs played electrically with a band…so…”Burr Electric!”

I’m a clever little willy, aren’t I?

By the way…I really enjoy writing these blogs. I am not sure what I expected them to be…or DO for me…but I am finding it very cathartic to share my thoughts like this. Even when those thoughts are dim and inconsequential.

My Master Songwriting Class is coming out soon. I will be sending out all kinds of emails about that. I like to think that the class is totally separate from my Monday Musings. The musings were not setting you up to be pummeled by requests to buy my class. If any of you want to learn how to be songwriters…you’re going to be given that opportunity soon enough.

If you think to yourself…”Hey! He’s only been sending me these blogs so he can sell me something!!”

I beg to differ.

Picture it like a bodega with a gambling parlor in the back. You can browse around the bodega. Buy some baklava. Buy some gum. Who doesn’t like gum?

While you are shopping I might, in passing, mention that there is a card game in the backroom if you are interested.

That doesn’t make my gum any less delicious. Or my baklava any less flavorful and dripping with honey.

My Musings are my bodega.

My Songwriting class is the poker game in the back.

I hope that clears it all up for you.

I will let you know how the session goes in my next musing.

The day after the session I head to Chicago to play with Laurel Canyon, my CS&N Tribute band with Mark Hudson and Mark Mirando.

Somewhere in the middle of all that my class comes out.

Mmmmm…gum.

Why Do I Do What I Do?

There are so many things in this world that I do and I am not sure why I am doing them. 

Some of them I can recognize as having a reason… in an existential way.  

Like using the word “existential.” I have no idea what that word means. Yet I use it.  

I mean, I vacuum the floor. I know that, in a few hours, Bucky will have left paw prints all over the house again. And yet I do it. 

I go to the gym and work out. At my age I’m pretty sure that I’m not in training for anything. At this point the worst pain I feel in my legs is when I stand to do a show. Lower back… feet, knees… all of them hurt for days after. Yet I go to the gym. Maybe I enjoy the way I look in spandex. No. I don’t. Maybe I enjoy the way OTHER people look in spandex? Possible. 

Let me get to the point. Here is something I can’t think of any real reason to do. I’m making another album. 

Even using the word “album” proves I should not be doing it. 

Everyone these days does one or two tracks at a time and puts them out on social media to a waiting, drooling audience who will then download for a few cents and enjoy in their homes. 

Me? I go in and hire a roomful of people, set them up in an expensive room full of microphones and spend thousands of dollars to turn it into a small disc that you could once play in your car, but now you can’t. 

I know I can sell the new CD at shows. Even though people no longer have CD players in their cars, they still buy them as souvenirs. 

Or ninja throwing discs. 

Maybe I could sell them at OTHER people’s shows? Show up at a Keith Urban concert and set up a table near the squad car. 

I don’t care.  

It’s fun to do. I’m gonna hit up a bunch of my talented friends to play on it… pick a decent picture… think of a clever, self deprecating title….(How about “Brrr… is it cold in here or is it just my career?) and then have a thousand units pressed up and shipped to me in large, heavy boxes that will then be placed to hold up that wall in my rear closet. 

This will be the 5th album I will have made. I can say “album” because that word refers to a collection and this will be a collection of my songs. 

I made “Matters of the Heart” while I still lived in CT and drove back and forth to NYC to record. Yikes. I was still learning. 

I made “Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One”… a live show recorded with my band where we played all my hits up to that point. It also has a cow on it. If that makes you run out and buy it. 

Next one was “Marianne’s.” This was kind of a pop record. Marianne’s is the name of the ice cream store I worked at in Santa Cruz in the early 70’s. It has a picture of the store on the cover. 

Then I made “Juggler’s Logic.” Juggler’s Logic is that thing where (I sound like Stefon) a juggler starts his act and drops the ball (or chain saw) a few times to make the audience think he is not as good as he should be. Then when he juggles as well as he can, everyone is amazed and thinks he’s being lucky!!  

Now I’ll make…. 

Who knows. I’m just going to do it. Maybe I find it a challenge. No one knows how many albums they have left in them. So this is my challenge. 

An existential challenge. 

Does that work? Damn. I gotta go look it up.   

Running Out of Original Thought

I became a professional writer in 1982. That’s 38 years ago. There is literally nothing I have not written a song about.

Yodeling?
Yes. “Betty Learned To Yodel” 1990
(It contains my Dad’s favorite joke. There’s a guy with a wooden leg named Pete. What’s the name of his OTHER leg?)

Bumblebees and jumbo shrimp?

Yes. “Nothing ‘Bout Love Makes Sense” 2004
(A song of oxymorons written by a moron on oxy)

Sexual dysfunction?
Yes. “I Try To Think About Elvis”   1994
(Risqué for it’s time. Softened a bit by being song by sweet Patty Loveless)

Outer space?
“Burned Like A Rocket “  1991
(Just about to crack the pop charts when the Challenger exploded. There are jokes here but still too soon)

Murder?
“Be Careful What You Wish For”  2005
“Real Gone Daddy” 1984
(I used to write nothing but psycho killer songs.  Looking back…yikes.)

Mahatma Ghandi?
“Ghandi”  2004
(For the Indian market)

American history?
“In Front of The Alamo”  2004
(For the Texas market)

Bumper Stickers?
“Honk if You Love Jesus”   1993
(Because “My kid is an honor student” was already written by Bob DiPiero)

The Bible?
“Apple in the Garden”  2007
“God and Me” 2006
(Lovely book. Sad ending)

Drugs?
“Hallucinating”  2007
(I did mescaline once in college and I thought a duck was talking to me.)

Talk Radio?
“The Night Show”  2001
(Written with the amazing Andrew Gold. He was brilliant and we really wrote some great songs together. Unfortunately, this one you will probably never hear.)

Get the drift of where I am going here?

I’ve got a phone full of titles, and lately every time I start to write one I stop and realize I have already written it in one form or another. Sh*t.

Oh wait… curse words…

“Five Letter Word”  1997
(It starts with an L and ends with an E…leave.)

Maybe I have to start at the beginning and write the same songs over again knowing that I will be writing them from the perspective of an older, wiser man. Daunting. I’m old but not that much wiser.

Aging?
“Younger”
“My Life Is On The Wire”

I can’t remember when I wrote these.

Tiny Pivotal Moments

We all have lives that are defined and changed by tiny pivotal moments.

A high school goalie falls on the ball and a kid’s leg, and breaks the leg. The ball is unhurt. The kid is stuck in an immobile position for two months and learns to play the guitar. He goes on to have a successful musical career INSTEAD of playing forward for Manchester United.

A kid plans to go to Woodstock with his best friend. The best friend calls his father a “mother**cker. The best friend does not go to Woodstock. The replacement ride to the festival is a semi-stranger who terrifies the aforementioned kid. By the end of Woodstock he is the kid’s best friend and they start a band. The kid goes on to a successful musical career.

A man, freshly divorced, is standing in a club in Georgia. The man (who is the Kid, all grown up….did you get that part? Yes? Good.) is playing a show with another friend and the other friend asks… “So, who do you have your eye on to go out with, now that you are single again?”

The man/kid looks up over the friends head and sees, on the wall behind him, a promo picture of a different, very female, performer who plays the club with some regularity. She is someone he has had a crush on for many years. Now, right now, she is literally directly over his head. If it had been Bob DiPiero’s picture in that spot….who knows.

The man/kid points and says “Her. That’s my dream girl.”
The man goes on to have a successful career as a husband after many poor tries.

A slight move to the right or the left and everything is different. I have had so many of them in my life. Let me tell you a horrible one.

The kid is driving his Chevy Malibu down the hill from his house. In the passenger seat is the best friend who did NOT go to Woodstock. It is a beautiful Fall day. They are hauling ass down the steep hill, their speed encouraged by the best friend who is a bit of a reckless young man. On the side of the road up ahead is an enormous pile of leaves. It is obvious someone spent hours raking the lawn to gather up such an impressive stack of foliage.

“ Go through it!!!” urges the devil on the kid’s shoulder dressed like his friend.

“I’m not gonna mess up the poor guys pile!” He shouts back like the choir boy that he was.

“Roll right through it! Scatter them everywhere!!!” the future juvenile delinquent shouts again even louder as if volume was gonna make the kid do it.  It almost does. He was going to go thru it. That poor guy’s leaves were about to be all over the road, the yard, the eastern seaboard. They were hauling ass. This was gonna be epic.

The kid couldn’t do it. At the last minute the fine young man his parents hoped he was reared his perfectly combed head and veered away from the pile and roared past it.

As he left the behind him, he took a glance into the rear view mirror and saw a small boy climb out from the pile where he had buried himself.

I get chills even today 50 years later thinking about how different my life would have been if I hadn’t turned the wheel.

Tiny moments that tip you to the good or the bad. You never know. I do believe that,in my life, I have had more than my share of the good and been sheltered from the worst of the bad. You have to treat each day like it’s loaded with those tipping points and always try to be the kid you’re parents hoped they raised. The kid that misses the leaves.

Failed Artists Are a Danger

Failed Artists Are a Danger to World Peace.

Georgia and I just spent a lovely weekend in Washington DC. On our one free day we said to ourselves, “What would be fun?”
The answer?
The Holocaust Museum!!!

We spent most of our day walking thru the Holocaust Museum, being both stunned and inspired.
And in pain. There is something about museums that hurt my back. I think the art is hung too low. Up six inches or so and I’d probably be fine.

One of the things you learn in the holocaust museum is that Hitler was a failed artist. He wanted to have the world accept him as an artist. He painted. No one liked what he painted… so he invaded Poland.

I have had some “over the top” reactions to career disappointments before but I have NEVER invaded a sovereign country. (To my knowledge) 

We all get rejected. We all think we are doing wonderful things only to be told that they fall short. How we deal with that is what separates the true artist from the dabbler.

In the songwriting world you get rejected 999 times out of 1000. You have to throw huge volumes of stuff at the wall to have just one thing stick. You never develop a thick skin. You have to recognize the parameters you are working under.

At the level I am working here in Nashville… all my songs are good. I don’t mean to sound bragging when I say that. It’s just that I know what I’m doing, so every song I write is viable. Any one of them could be recorded by someone. Why aren’t they?

Maybe one word in my title is the same as one word in a title of a song they already spent money on and recorded.
Maybe my song has the same tempo as a song they have already cut.
Maybe my song has the same SNARE DRUM sound as another song they have already cut.

Get my drift? I once was in the middle of a fight between a husband and a wife that started over a pie one of them was cooking.
“Should he have baked the pie?” the wife asked me…
“It’s not about the pie,” I responded.
“But we needed the pie for dinner and she was just jealous of my pie,” the husband shouted…

“It’s not about the pie,” I repeated.

It wasn’t about the pie. And it’s not about the song. It hardly ever is. Keep that in mind when your song gets rejected and don’t even THINK about marching on Czechoslovakia.

One last thing I came out of the Holocaust museum smiling about. (It can be done)

I love Mel Brooks. It’s amazing how he weaponized humor against Hitler by making him the butt of all the jokes in The Producers. It’s one of my favorite movies. Looking at a map in the museum I saw that one of the ghettos was named Bialystok. The main character in ‘The Producers’ was a sleazy, crooked, object of ridicule named Max Bialystock.

What a great way to reclaim something and make people smile with something that once made them cry.

I recommend the museum to anyone spending an afternoon in DC. Just remember…it’s not about the pie.

2020 Grammys

I’m still slowly getting over this cold. I wanted to wait to write this and do it while the Grammys were on. I’m not gonna make it till the end. I’m running out of gas. Here’s as far as I got. (Spoiler alert: I am an old white guy whining. I am aware of that.)

Alicia Keys. I guess the whole “no make up” thing goes out the window when you are going to be beamed Hi Def into everyone’s living rooms.

Lizzo. The new Aretha? God, she’s amazing. Was she paraphrasing the great Leonard Cohen when she sang “I don’t wanna ho no mo?” I’ll have to Google that.

I remember Shea Stadium when the Beatles brought out ballerinas halfway thru “Love Me Do”. It’s classic. I was truly hoping that at the end of her flute bit she would yell “Hey Aqualung!!!”

“Welcome to the Grammys bitches!!! Nice throwback shout out to Billy Crystal.

She looked like she had a ball!!!! Kind of sucks that every time she curses the bleep keeps us from hearing what she’s saying.

Enjoyed Gwen Stefani’s Carmen Miranda vibe. Damn fine song. Well played.

Does Alicia know that the sparkles on her dress makes her look like she’s got some kind of space exzema?
She was totally doing the Billy Crystal at the Academy Awards opening number.

And the guy wearing the skull makeup? Anybody? Anybody? Who dat?

Anyone else think that Alicia spending fifteen minutes telling people to keep their speeches short was kind of… ironic? Alanis? Any opinion here?

Joe Jonas…don’t eat a salad before you sing on TV.

Tyler the Creator!!! He looked like Sia. Oh no. Now there’s an ARMY of Sias. Later on when he won and went up with his Mother…he won me over. Don’t get him….but I love him. Cool guy. Well deserved.   But seriously…the crowd goes wild cause he falls off the back of the stage? Keith Moon did that every night!!

Is the reason Rascal Flatts is retiring because the guy from Dan and Shea looks just like their singer and there can only be one?

Little Red Corvette is one of the best songs ever!! I question the stripper on the pole. I don’t think when Neil Portnow told women to “step up” he meant “step up while wearing Frederick’s of Hollywood.”

Tanya!!! Who else sings like that? Great.

Ariana Grande. When violinists sway like that…do they ever poke each other in the eye?  Her song was kind of an X rated version of the Sound of Music. It made me want to run from Nazis while listening to Marvin Gaye.

Some of the songs are so long they could have given out five more awards. (My yearly complaint.)

Billy Eilish. “I’ll only hurt you if you let me.” F**k me. Song of the Year!!!

Aerosmith does my buddy Mark Hudson’s “Living On The Edge!!!!”  Fantastic!!!! They killed it. That is Rock and Roll with capital Rs.

Lil Naz X (or something like that)  This is actually the first time I ever heard the song. That’s crazy but true. I like the chorus. Anyone else find it odd that they brought out Deiter and the Sprockets dancers halfway through?

Demi Lovato was wonderful. Great song and a great singer. I love it when they make mistakes because it tells us it’s LIVE!!!!

Rosalio (or something akin to that)
Assless chaps. Just sayin’.  Howard Stern got banned from MTV for those, right?
Her dancers were wearing those jumpsuits you wear when you are doing community service. Good for them.

I would pay to have a fingernail duel between her and Billy Eilish. Not to the death. Just some scarring on the forearms.

That’s it for tonight. I’m gonna watch the rest tomorrow. I need some tea and Nyquil. Gotta be careful. That’s what killed Curly.

Goodnight all.

If you read this in the morning and write in to me… don’t tell me who won the rest of the night. I want it to be a shock. I have money out all over town.