I've never owned a Bruce Springsteen album in my life, but about a week ago I read a review in our local paper on Bruce's newest work that was so nicely written that I decided I ought to buy it. And so I did, sitting right here on my ass and ordering it through Amazon. But before I ordered the cd, I sent a little note to the young journalist (Jeff Mirers) who wrote the review to let him know I enjoyed his article so much it prompted me to go out and purchase the cd .If I knew how to link that article to this blog, I would ...but I'm hoping one of you kind folks will do it for me ( I do know, but I'm being a lousy lazy lying bastard)  It was in the Buffalo News. Anyway, the cd  came in yesterday but I plugged it into the player in my car today. And the first song I heard was outlaw pete and I liked it immediately. And I like the song about being subtle a lot too.I don't think I should tell you a whole lot about it because I don't want to ruin your excitement in case you're a Spingsteen fan and you're waiting for your cd to come in the mail. There's so many albums out there that I didn't buy and I'm glad of it because I'd be broker than I am right now. Which makes me wonder...what makes something catch. Catch you so, that you'd want to play it over and over again. Like a lullaby your mama sang. Like an anthem your dada hummed. Like, what are you saying ....Master Thomas. I'm saying, that nothing can be or should be compared....even though it has, will and is. Kiss. Yuck what ugly makeup....and who's that guy in the snaphot of? Oh, that's just an apparition of ho chi minh...haha. What did he sing? He sang, this land is your land...this land is my land...form the gulf of tonkin to the ny island....or words to that effect.

                        

I assume kickoff will be within the hour. I'll be rooting for Arizona not because it's warmer there than it is in Buffalo, but because. Because why. I don't know, just because. You must have some reason. Why. Because. Because you have to go further than because. Because why. Because that's just the way things go...because when you say because...it is implied that you have a reason, so therefore if you have a reason, you must offer it. I don't feel that way, I think because can stand on its own...just because I said because, it's just because and nothing else. Yes, I think I know what you're saying...even though I don't agree with you. Because? See, that's what I'm saying...it's OK for you to ask because why, and when I want to know because why you tell me that because stands on its own. Fuck it...forget it...I'll tell you why because. Well please tell. Because for all the wrong reasons...arizona will win because it needs the victory more than Pittsburgh. How pathetic. I know...it's the best that I could do for a reason this close to kickoff. Excuse me I have to stand up....the national anthem is on. And, the arizona players were playing closer attention to the anthem so therefore they will win. But the other day you said Pittsburgh will win by 13. Yes, and that's because it was the other day.

Click (here) to watch the trailer of Wayne Dyer rocking in his trailer. Can you guess who he was with?  At first I was thinking...double entendre, but now I'm not so sure. Secondly, it's none of my business (it's his) and really, it should be none of yours. Unless of course you're somewhat invested and ambitious to the meaning of any of this. Doctor Wayne in his straightforward  way hand carries us through this dilemma of ours. He laughs a lot, frowns more and shaved his head because he was mostly bald. At one point he considered changing his name, but doctor made him change his mind. He said, why the fuck should I change my name, when all I have to do is add Dr. to Wayne. Forgive me, but I'm being unfair to Wayne. I've never met the man & I don't know much of his writing, but I've seen him advertised here and there. He must be mainstreamed. I think he and Deepak Chopra go trout fishing once in awhile. They fly fish. I would love to go fly fishing with Deepak, Wayne and Pema Chodron & Brittney Spears too, when she doesn't have custody of her kids. Of course I'm just being silly and I know that this will never happen, but it was fun thinking about it for a few moments. And now that I was thinking that way, let me pick out another fivesome. Me, Michelle Obama, Faye Dunaway, Muhammad Ali and Robin Williams. I was going to say Bill Clinton instead of Robin....but I figured he'd be wanting to hit on Faye...while quite honestly, I'd be trying to too. Quite selfish on my part....yes? Although, the last time I saw her was in 1968 in the Bonnie and Clyde film. It doesn't matter....I'm sure she's still quite interesting.

Sometimes. Probably more times than not, especially lately, because we're so much better informed. Almost daily there's some blurb on TV, the internet, the local newspaper or for those less fortunate, some information overheard at Joe's barbershop or Francel's beauty salon. I never do drive thrus except for quick cash & all other times I don't mind going inside and waiting in lines because I love to partake in the banter. I'm a hog for talk. But, as a former bartender and an above average poker player, I do know when it's appropriate for me to just shut the fuck up...but, I also have my mother's genes & there comes a time, that I just have to speak my mind. Vent. Venting is an art. Especially in public places where there may be some punch drunk bullies who cannot comprehend the complexity and irony of your utterance. At times like this you may fare better with sticks and stones. Goddamn, did you see those guys turn around and punch the living shit out of that guy in Tim Horton's. Yeah, he took quite a pounding. And that's where the thin line comes in...shut up...throw a cute little verbal jab and hope it doesn't get misconstrued, or blurt out some shit because you're carrying some other shit that you haven't been able to blurt out to your boss, mother/father in law, best friend etc. Now, you can simplify this whole blog tonight, by just leaving the line, go outside and into your car and go though the drive thru instead. Ten minutes later...hi, can I help you...yes, I'd like a medium coffee, half decaf, half regular and one cream. Any sugar in your coffee sir?  No thanks, I'm a diabetic. Well, how about some sweet & lo? Forget it, just give me a coffee black. No sugar?  Yes, and immediately I knew that I gave the wrong answer. Of course this doesn't happen every day ...and for this I am glad.

There are so many songs and melodies that I have learned to enjoy and love that I can't really say that I have a favorite. But this song that I'm posting tonight ...I must say, does some weird things to me. It gives me the chills and it makes me want to cry. It makes me feel triumphant too. It most likely has to do with this mystery that comes from deep inside. I don't understand it, but I'm glad it's there. It's like a wake up call that startles me to a realization that something out there is true. I wish I could give you a percentage, but I would say that 98.5% of the time I am oblivious to such a feeling. Small joys. I wish I would have made up those two words just now, but I didn't. I have stolen those two words for ages. I love saying this: life is a series of small joys...accumulate enough of them and you may end up being happy perpetually. Actually I just made that up now...google it if you don't believe me. But really, you don't need google to tell you what's true. I like you am equipped. You know what, I felt awkward writing that last sentence. There was a small voice that said don't do it, but there was that other voice that said fuck it, just go with it. So, how could I offend the stronger voice. But I do know, that stronger is not always better. Subtle catches my imagination a lot too. Everything really works. Like the dog getting up off the floor by the wood burning stove and shaking himself off and then jumping onto the corner of the couch just vacated by a daughter going upstairs to bed. Good night honey...I love you. Good night dad. And between now and the ten thousand epiphanies that occurred since this blog was started, I am most grateful that I was able to recognize a few.




                    

There's this place quite close to the city line that has this sign in the window that says:  no colors allowed. This afternoon a woman I work with asked me if I knew of the place. And I said yes. And she said, that she had received a call from one of her constituents and they told her that they saw a sign in a restaurant window that said: no coloreds allowed. And I said to my colleague...I know the place well, it's in our town, and I pass by it all the time, but it sits so far back from the road, I never notice anything in the window. I said to her, I can't imagine that they would have a sign like that in their window...do you think it could be "no colors allowed" instead. Can you do me a favor and check it out the next time you pass it by and see if there's anything that I should be concerned about. Well, if it's what you think it is, I'm as concerned as you are. I knew I wasn't going to drive by there tonight, but I knew the bride was going to. So I called the bride up and asked her if she could check out the window in the bar of so and so place. She did, and took it one step further...she snapped a picture of it with her cell phone and immediately texted it to me. And I then texted it to my colleague. Now, that could easily be the end of the story, but there's a possibility that some of you may not understand what the difference of colors and colored is. Colors is a reference to bikers while colored refers to blacks. Bikers are not allowed to enter places if they wear their biker biker insignias. God forbid a few "outlaws" gather  for a few beers and suddenly a few "hells angels" had the same idea at the same place at the same time fore the sole enjoyment of a few beers. When bikers see a sign in the bar window, they have a choice. They can leave their black leather jackets on their bikes and go inside and have a few beers. A jacket is not like skin, but no matter which way you look at it, both signs regardless...are discriminatory.

                                   

Yes, I think we should fuck. Wow, that's rather blunt. Well, I was going to be a little bit more subtle tonight, and actually, I had this whole game plan of what I was going to say, and I had all this cool stuff written down on a piece of paper, but the wind gusted up & took it away. Hi, I'm Drake. Hello, I'm Mallard. Now this is me speaking. (Tom) I don't know all that much about the hierarchy of ducks. I seem to see the same ones hanging around by the creek all the time. I hardly see any nasty quacking going on, so I assume that they must get along pretty well. I see a lot of little ducks later on so I assume that there be some amorous action going on too, But I'm pretty sure that those succulent little duckies get swooped up by hawks, foxes and what nots on or near the creek. And of course, the little foxies and few eyas etc are scooped up from who knows where. ( and the predator may be humming eya, eya aye on the way out with the prey in his/her mouth) Pray tell. Anyway, there's so much of nature that I don't understand, I'm just glad that I can catch a glimpse of the surface stuff. I don't care to go into dens and nests and holes to see the secret part of their lives, I'm quite happy to see what they offer to me. This morning I heard this cardinal singing his song and I almost felt I knew how he was aching for his loved one. And then suddenly the call had stopped. Was the call answered. It's none of my business. I was just glad that our crazy puppy dog who flew across the creek in mad pursuit of something came back to me after I gave a few shouts and whistles.
                               

and I love classical and progressive jazz too. Ain't it all noise anyway? And I love all those folks who hate all of the above. It ain't the meat it's the motion...I love that song too as well as any song that keeps killing me softly with it's tune. That's the sound of the men...working on the chain gang...oomph, ahhh.  Not everything has to be a polka you know. I kinda like this movement towards globalism. I'm introduced to a different version of a common sound. There's endless versions of aum. Tweet tweet, chirp chirp, heehaw hee haw, nanny nanny, nah nah, hey hey & even swoop swoop coming in off Australia. Soon, one of the creatures that produce these  sounds will become extinct and that is sad. But the sound always returns to the beginning. Bleep bleep. And no matter how you attempt to bleep out sound...it's there...hummimg everything. Shit you like to hear...and shit you don't. So hey hey...

I think everyone should go to hell at least once in this lifetime. How else could heaven possibly be defined. Personally I don't have a problem with personal pride or collective pride for that matter. Or any expression of pride. I remember the fuss that was made by many in my extended Polish community back in October of 1978 when Karol Wojtyla became the first ever Polish pope. We finally stole the coveted title from the Italians. Of course there were more than the Italians that held that position, but for me, beating the Italians was supreme. If I can remember correctly, we had T shirts too. I think I remember one with John Paul II and he had a bottle of beer in his hand (I won't name the brand) and he was donning a ny yankee cap too. Instead of a bat, he had a crozier in his mighty right hand. I don't think John Paul was a switch hitter, but I do believe he was a playwright. But saying all this, I really think the gist of this blog should go to Obama and not John Paul. And not so much Obama, but how people are reacting to this election. And how people are expressing themselves. And how some are happy and some are not. And so what. We all have a pope, we all have a president, we all have a miss america, we all have a queen, we all have a hammer and an ax to grind. But if you hope for one moment to transcend this hell you've created for yourself...tsk tsk...it ain't gonna happen until you come up empty. And if you believe any of this...stay in hell for another day...or two thousand.

                                               

I'll be bolting this pop stand for a few days. I'm going to D.C. to be one of nine chaperones for my daughther's junior class trip. I got an email a couple of months ago  from the school asking parents if they could volunteer to chaperone. I wrote back saying that they could put my name on the bottom of the list as an alternate...in case they needed someone in a pinch. A few days later I got an email saying that since no other parents responded, I was on top of the list. So, we're leaving tomorrow and we won't get back to Buffalo until the 17th, which also is my daughter Julie's 17th birthday. I am not mentally prepared for this trip at all. We're taking a bus (two of them actually) and I think it'll take us close to ten hours to get there. That, I can almost handle, but they have the rest of itinerary so tightly packed that I don't know how this free spirited, loosey goosey personality of mine will be able to cope. I was thinking of lugging my laptop along, but I have decided that I am going to leave it at home so I practice separation anxiety. Of course, most hotels have courtesy computers, so more than likely I will be sneaking a peek at you my friends. And, I will probably be antsy enough to write a mini mini note to let you know that I miss you. I don't like hotels...especially when I'm alone in my room. I'm so used to having family, dogs and cats and familiarity when I sleep that I get restless when I don't. Since I'm the only male chaperone, I'll be off somewhere in my own room. Although my daughter already told me that she'd may be coming to my room in the morning to shower. And probably take a shit too...which she hasn't mentioned. They have these girls stacked four to a room, so it just may get nutsy in the mornings. For me, I don't care...I'm up early (5:30) and I go out and walk, grab a cup of coffee, grab a newspaper, write in my journal, check out the continental breakfast, work up to a good bowel movement, go back to my room, shit shower and shave & then get on with my day. & it's probably not even close to 8 am. But, this is not going to be the same. I may some duties to do as a chaperone. I may have to knock on a few doors and say...hurry up ladies...get ready. In the Army the sergeant's would yell out in the mornings....drop your cocks and pick up you socks. I'm glad those days are over.

I don't know how this happens to me, but an earlier blog just went poof. Now I will have to find the energy and patience to do another one. I was telling you about my experiences of being a chaperone on my daughter's junior class trip to DC. It was a five day excursion with a jammed packed itinerary. This is an all girls school and I was the only dad chaperone, with 7 moms.  Last year there were three dads tagging along.  I am to blame because I volunteered. Anyway, I was in charge of 12 girls (one of which was my daughter). So, when we went on an activity...those 12 girls had to report in to me. Most of the day's activities were pretty contained, but there were a few that weren't. And that's when I earned my volunteer bucks. We had a rule that was pretty simple: keep four to a group at all times. Of course that was not always adhered to, but since we came back with the same amount of girls that we left with,we did well. I strayed only one time myself. I wanted to check out the Vietnam wall alone, so I asked the other chaperones to watch my gals at the Korean War monument while I strolled the wall. The last time I visited the wall I got a tad emotional, so I didn't know I would react this time around. And I was quite surprised that I walked the wall from one end to the next and I felt pretty much composed. Until on the way back, I overheard this teacher telling his students about the draft...and the protests...and how the draft was really not all that fair. And then busybody me had to chime in....and say yeah...it was a class war...a blue collar war. And then I began to tell him a story about a friend of mine who got drafted after he finished college, and they stuck his ass in the infantry....and he wanted to go to Canada...and I couldn't finish the story because I started to cry. And I apologized, and I walked away and caught my composure before I caught up with the girls at the Korean monument.

The bullshit the next second has in store for you. Or the glory too. One never knows. Trust me. Thus ends this blog. Who's going to write this story after this. We are. Why we? Because there's this connection. Why I don't know. I never saw a dinosaur, but I almost believe they existed. There are bones and discoveries daily. Teeth too and amulets. I'm digging for something to say tonight...can you tell. It's a delicate dig. The ground is still warm from the crash. It's kinda freaky you know. There is no explanation. Everything fucked up at once. Me, I was asleep at the time and I didn't know what was going down. Take a deep breath and count from one to twenty -five. Good night...no need to count anymore, you are timeless. I quit reading the stories because they made me sad. Don't read any further. Ed, a man I worked with for many years had two sons. One son was getting married this past Saturday and the other son was standing up. The sons are intact, but the second son's girlfriend was coming in from New Jersey. She too was standing up. And of course, there's no explanation. Thus could almost end the story but we survivors know better. We dwell between this or that. You could say, either or, but whatever word you choose, seldom seems to fit. We are all victims of the crash.

I remember writing those letters on the back of postcards. I don't know if I really meant it or not, but it seemed like a nice thing to write. It was a gesture to let someone else know that you were thinking about them in a warm and kind way. The post card is pretty much obsolete. Not so much the selling of them, but the writing and mailing them out to friends and family is seldom done nowadays. Somebody send me a post card please. I somewhat miss postcards. Good postcard writing was almost an art form. You could tell the lazy ones in a heartbeat, but some people had a special way of telling you something neat and cozy in an open public way. It's not like a letter SWAK, so you had to be more subtle, just in case your postman or mother was being nosy that day. The bed in the hotel in Kentucky was so hard I couldn't get settled at night. And the cock crowed at 6am, but I was already awake thinking of you. Say hello to your mom for me. Love, Tom (hapfustwywh) Here's one from DC. In and out, in and out, you're in my thoughts. I wish I could blog to you instead of sending you this dumb post card. peace, maze. And here's one more. You know what I miss more than anything...licking the back of stamps. I know you think that practice is unsanitary, but with these self adhesive things, I miss the taste. Love, Tom. OK, because I never know when to stop here's one more. Darling, why the hell did you go to NYC with the girls and leave me home alone....I miss the shit out of you. And you know what....I already forgot what hapfustwywh stands for. So if you feel like playing around tonight figure it out and remind me in the morning.




                                            

It's Sunday so I'm going to slip into my Andy Rooney mode. A couple times already I have been called the gaian andy rooney by Lisa. It may be helpful to read these words as though Andy Rooney was actually speaking them. Although, I can't imagine Andy talking about shaving. So this is really about me and the whole notion of shaving. To me, shaving my face is the epitome of my day. Once I'm shaved I can go anywhere. And that's it, end of story. I will not shave anything else on my body. Of course, under certain medical situations I will allow someone to shave something other than my face. And when that happens, I never understand why such a large area has to be shaved. But usually at times like that I have some pre surgery calming meds in my system and a lot of the protest has already been taken out of me. So bottom line is this. I don't understand the need for facial hair. (both men & women) Now here's an oddball thing about me, I don't mind armpit hair. I actually think it's weird that some men will shave their armpits for muscle building competitions. And here's another thing I don't fully understand, the need to shave pubic hairs.(golly you're not pre puberty anymore)  Now mind you, I didn't say trim. Trimming is ok in my subjective world. I mean...who likes to see a bikini (or speedo)  bush in the middle of coney island. And of course trimming is necessary after a while for eyebrows, nostrils, ears and most warts. And, there's no need to shave fuzz. Fuzz only lasts a little while. I think it was the British soldiers that made it a point to be shaved before they hit the battlefields. And I think their war cry was "God shave the queen" ...it gave them something to live for.

You know, there's choice and there are choices. Just because you choose a choice piece of meat at the butcher shop it doesn't mean that it's going to be as juicy and tender as you thought it was going to be when you were at the butcher's versus now when it's all cooked up at home and cut into it for your enjoyment. Yech. That particular situation is easy to remedy, it becomes a tad more difficult if it's a pet dog or cat or possibly a spouse. A dead piece of meat can be easily returned to a butcher shop. Forgive me though, I don't think this is what I wanted to talk about tonight when I first started. Let's back up a bit. The snapshot. I was looking at all the shots I took while I was a chaperone in DC last week. And this particular picture made me wonder, what the fuck it was, that I was thinking about when I clicked the shutter button. It was the one time during the trip that we were all set somewhat free from the encumbrances of rules. The girls were asked to stay in groups of fours, but us chaperones weren't given that restriction. Our shackle was our cell phone, and everyone had our number. Location: smithsonian area. Huge rule to follow: bus will be leaving at 3:45pm...be here X promptly. You know, for me, I was just glad to meander. After a while I got tired at looking at exhibits, so I began to walk in and out of here and there. And then, before long, there it was, a boarded up site that was under construction. When I snapped this picture I thought....wouldn't it be funny if I framed this and eventually snuck it in and hung it in the smithsonian. So instead, I'm hanging it for you. You can take it or leave it. That's what druthers is all about. I snuck in the word snuck.

When I was in basic training back in September of 1966 I had a whole week of learning how to fight with a bayonet attached to my M-14 military issued weapon. Parry and thrust and all this other happy horseshit never made any sense to me back then especially since the vietnam war was going on and if I were to be sent to any combat zone it certainly wouldn't be toting the M-14 with a bayonet strapped to my side. In nam the weapon of choice was the M-16, so whatever I learned about the M-14 and the bayonet was pretty much useless. I never cared for the bayonet stuff, but I could tear apart that M-14 blindfolded. And I was a pretty damn good shot with it too. Which was somewhat weird because my dad was anti guns & weapons, so I entered the army never having owned a bb gun or bow and arrow, but somehow ending up enjoying the lug and feel of the M-14. And when it finally came my time to learn about the M-16 just before I was about to leave for nam, I lost the little love I had for guns again. This little flimsy piece of  m-16 weaponry took the war out of warrior. It was at this point of our evolution that technology began to become more productive than precision. Suddenly, there was no longer a need to strap on a bayonet and go toe to toe with your enemy, or pick 'em off one by one with your trusty rifle....nope, just keep your finger down on the trigger and in seconds out sprays bullets, bullets and bullets with more outcomes (casualties) than plink, plink...plink.  Casualties....yeah, they have to be spelled out otherwise I think  I would lose sight of the fact that some of my actions may actually snuff somebody out. Plink. Wow, I can't believe you knocked that campbell soup can off the fence with your bb gun from 100 feet away. Yeah well...watch this. Hey, put that Bazooka down! Fuck you..it's my blog and my bubble gum..kaboom. Excuse me, is there any reason you need your bayonet so close to my face? Now look what you have done.  

I'm not very organized, but I have a fairly good memory and a system that works for me. I'm generally equipped with a pen, but all the other essentials are not part of my program. I have calling cards, but I never remember to put some in my pocket before I leave the house. I like taking cards from other people because that always gives me a piece of paper in my pocket that I can use for taking notes later on in the day. I have a huge full calendar on my office desk that is clean and it shows January 2005. Being organized is noble, but some of the shit we do to be organized is borderline anal. I suppose it keeps calendar makers in business, but with all the technology out there I fear most of them will be out of business in the next ten years.The cell phone and blackberry is killing the little guy. I have a cell phone, but I only use it to do some calls & some silly texts and find out the time of day because I don't wear a watch. I don't understand why anybody would wear a watch these days when there's so many other things out there to tell you...it's time. Ring, ring, ring. Hello! Hurry, it's time. Oh thank you, I would have missed it if you hadn't called. By the way, what is it time for? Nothing in particular, but I thought you'd like to know, it's 7:21 pm. Standard or Pacific? Well right now in Bombay India...(dead as the bodies floating in the ganges) Hello, hello, do you still have a caste system there...hello?  What the fuck, I think I lost my connection. Maybe they were transferring the call. What follows is a lot of silence and a way too long of a wait. Click, click, click...dial tone.*69....1-800-tru time. (878- 8463)  Hello, I think I may have just lost connection...I was talking to a young lady in Bombay. Well sir, this is Sandy and I'm in Wisconsin, how may I help you this evening. What time is it now? In Bombay or Wisconsin sir? I'm not sure anymore....I'll call back in the morning......   Cock a doodle doo.  Now, where the hell is that number?
 

                  

Each moment life gets scooped up by the tons in soup, in mud, in air, in whatever. In order to separate us from this killing field we have domesticated a lot of this food. We tame it and train it and teach it to amuse us. This picture tonight is the audience watching the dolphin show at the Baltimore aquarium. Unlike the tuna, you can train the dolphin to bop a ball in the air, pucker up and give you a smooch, and swirl and swirl and swirl in a pool, so fast and crazy like, that you feel yourself being dizzy with glee. But of course, training comes with a price. After feeding the dolphin all your prized goldfish, you end up going to the local fish market for some baby mackerel and cod too just so you can keep your loving almost human like dolphin perky and amusing. But of course, this too comes with a price. Eventually you realize that dolphin food is expensive and you think of ways to cut your costs. You put your fish on a dolphin diet. You begin to charge your neighbors a couple of bucks each time they care to come into your yard and check the dolphin swirl in your four foot deep above ground pool. However, it doesn't take long for the novelty to wear off...and before long....

That's the way things are meant to be...it's our natural state you know. It's from an old song. And I remember the local songster Tony Gala who sang those words so beautifully, but I don't even know if it was his song. Regardless all words and all songs are just copies. The other day I said something in front of a group of folks and I prefaced what I said by saying these words...I have said this before many times...and I wish that I said it originally, but I suppose someone had to beat me to it, and right now I'm just being a copycat. In the beginning was the word and the word became man. That is, as it was translated from something else into what you are now  seeing and hearing in your head. God said and then Jesus said and then Thomas said (but he can be disregarded because he's not one of the fab four) and so and so said so too. But can you really trust so and so? And by now I should know, there's only one thing I should trust and it's my heart. Earlier, my bride was tidying up the dining room and she said to me, I already washed the floor in your little corner, so if you want to, you can sit down there and blog. And I said to her, I have no idea what the hell I feel like writing about. I may have to back into it as usual. And then, I looked at the little lamp she had lit in the other corner and I immediately took the cell phone out of my pocket to snap a picture of it. And my wife said to me, I just knew you were going to photograph that. And I said, how the hell would you know that. And she said, I don't know, it just looked so pretty when I turned it on. As for my choice of music tonight...that too was chance. Something earlier made me think of Wes Montgomery...which made me wonder about other jazz guitarists that I liked to listen to. Earl Klugh popped into my thoughts. And then this song with Chet Atkins pooped up on youtube.I never hear it before. And when I watched and listened to it and there was a moment where I got the chills. And that's when I thought....this is worthy of sharing.