Tough Cookies, Tony Danza!

...but I'm the boss here.

For the handful of you paying attention (so far), you'll notice I removed my diatribe about A-Rod, steroids, integrity, and other such nonsense. Why, you ask? Because I can.

It doesn't fit with what I want this blog to be about. This is supposed to be fun. At least to me. There's a time and a place for me to thinly veil my vitriol toward the hypocrisy of modern life. And, in looking at some of the things I wrote, I realize that I probably didn't quite master some of the finer aspects of word choice. So kiss it goodbye. That's how we'll roll.

It's time to take the weekend off for the Oscars. Yup. And while you're sitting down, I'll drop this shocker on you. I'll be all alone when I go to sleep Sunday night.

Welcome to the Future (The Three Years Ago Edition)

Consider a moment in time. Now let's imagine it's 1962. You've wandered into a small club which seems cavernous in nature. A band you've never heard of is about to take the stage, and change the course of music as we know it. As the guitarist strums the first chord, you know nothing will ever be the same. Can you imagine it?

Impressive, isn't it?

I'd like to think that this might be an occurrence of a similar magnitude. But, let's be real here, folks. I'm almost certain I'm not wired to deliver on that kind of promise. So, instead, let's hope for something attainable. I'm not going to recreate the magic of the Beatles. But who's to say that this can't be like the first time you heard... Procol Harum? Serviceable enough to still play county fairs, maybe share a bill with the Marshall Tucker Band or Iron Butterfly, maybe some five year old concert footage of theirs will turn up on one of those PBS "My Generation" pledge drive specials. And maybe, just maybe, I'll crank out "Whiter Shade of Pale" once or twice.

Come with me now, won't you?