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New Years Musings

Happy New Year Everyone!

Here's what I'm is (sorry, what I *be*) thinking about this day, with the requisite football in the background…..


Dear Artist,

Enough time has now passed that I no longer feel there is any danger of embarrassing or exposing you publicly. But I am calling you out.

You are a drunk.

You’re pallid, anorexic, anti-social, and so obviously very sick. You needed help onto the stage for soundcheck. You feebly nibble at the food on the musicians’s food table and you sadly just throw it back up in front of everyone- people who love you, people in your band that depend on you for work that evening, and people who have admired you for years. But this ain’t no stomach virus. You’re a drunk.

I feel so sorry for you. You cancelled, the evening went on, and on the outside everybody acted like it was no big thing. Your band got paid. Excuses were made. But you’re a drunk.

The fallout goes beyond your personal destruction. I can’t even begin to imagine the timbre of your more personal relationships. You wear out your crew, your manager is speechless, and in a constant of damage control.  Your band members were paid, but didn’t get to perform that evening, therefore many will never get to see the brilliant musicians that they are. There is no price tag on bread cast upon that water of exposure. Opportunity swept away because you’re a drunk.

And I admired you so. I love your music, sang with you once, studied your storytelling skills like I studied Bill Cosby’s comedy and Richard Thompson’s guitar.

And I’ll admit, this is very old, as I come from a family of alcoholics. I’ve never had a drink, never will. If there’s an addiction gene, I don’t need to test it’s efficacy. I’m not a stone, and I’m not unsympathetic, but it flashes me back and hurts like hell to watch you puke 3 green beans into a backstage trashcan.

Here’s a chance for you to help others. Check in somewhere an detox, and make it public. People would listen, and maybe help themselves. Do us, them, and your liver a favor. Don’t make me list your name with Bill and Amy.


Gas station network -

Yeah. I’m all for limited phone use while driving. Texting is just stupid while on the road, and yes I’ve done it. And the whole concept of being on a motorcycle without a helmet seems far beyond rights and freedoms. Talk to anyone who works emergency room medicine.

New Jersey law is such that it is illegal for a patron to pump their own gas, so they obviously see something inherently dangerous at the pump. So really, the Gas Station Network? Is that the legal distraction of choice while pumping fuel into our Fords?

Maybe I’ll market a table saw that comes with a dance instruction video. All that wasted woodworking time, while I could be learning the Electric Slide...oops, hey, that’s my thumb!!


Roscoe is on the mend -

I’d say he is about 78 percent himself, the 22 percent still due to having lost 21 percent of his body weight, and to his current dosage of prednisone. But thanks for asking. Big thanks to Jeanne, David, Randy, Scott, JoHanna, Hillary, Susan, and their family and friends for giving me the opportunity to keep my fingers limber, my voice warmed, my chops together, and my vet bills payed.  And to all the people who donated to the Pets In Need program at Mass Vet Referral, I thank you for helping folks with far less means than me. During Roscoe’s last check-up visit the Director and the Patient Liaison both sought us out for thanks. That was a pretty special moment. I think there’s a gene that makes you feel better when you do something for others. Far better gene than the addiction one...