On Halloween 1987, in New York City, I met my future ex-wife’s parents. Her dad was a history professor and a warm intelligent man. Her mom was an educated, studious, knowledgeable, classy lady with a beautiful speaking voice. We were at her daughter’s outdoor gig that crisp October night.
There was plenty of time for conversation, and I couldn’t resist her mother. She stole my attention. I’m a chatterbox who loves telling stories from life, and I had an attentive and attractive audience. After some time speaking together, she said; “You really should be writing this down, dear.” I think of that often.
Later that night, her daughter and I got into a scuffle with four drunk British investment banker types over a taxi. At one point, the two of us were beating them with my guitar – using it like a battering ram. We got in the cab. My door was flung open and my ex pulled me from an executive dress boot that was coming for my face. I grabbed the assailant on his retreat – repeatedly crushing his seemingly disembodied Armani-suited arm in the door of the cab. In the heat of battle, I relished the sight of the flailing appendage as it struggled to be free. We got the better of them – and got away.
Since that night, countless people have told me something very much like ‘You need to write a book. I’ll buy it.’ Perhaps some day, but for now I have some information to share. Mostly, I love to talk with people. I also enjoy telling stories – and I’ve had a steady stream of requests over the years. For some odd reason, some people want to know what I’m doing with myself. This site is a tool for passing that along.
I’ve set up several accounts on media outlets. My mission is to take these currently blank slates and fill them with something of value. A life should always be under construction.
Please feel free to browse through and find something for you. Or not.