More Eddie Murphy content! In 1983, Eddie Murphy starred in his second feature film, Trading Places. The title applies to several aspects of the movie.
At the most literal level of "trading places," two wealthy brothers swap the lives of a young commodities broker in their employ (Dan Aykroyd) with Murphy's character, a poor con man. So Aykroyd becomes homeless and Murphy get his money, job and apartment. Hilarity ensues.
Second, and as you can see from the end of that clip, the two old wealthy guys are up to some shenanigans enabling them to corner the frozen orange juice market using confidential information from the USDA. Suffice it to say that 1983 was a simpler time. Anyway, Murphy and Aykroyd concoct a plan to intercept the information and swap it out with a fugazi document. The confidential information is itself trading places, and Murphy and Aykroyd trade places with the two brothers from an inside information perspective.
Third, this ruins the two wealthy brothers, rendering them homeless, while Aykroyd and Murphy become fantastically rich. The brothers get their come-up five years later in Coming to America.
Fourth, "trading places" also refers to the exchange floor on which Murphy and Aykroyd execute the final steps of their scheme. In a nutshell, they know that the orange crop is large (based on the USDA report they stole) while their enemies think it will be small (based on the fugazi report they planted). The brothers aggressively buy OJ futures, driving the price up. Other traders see what the brothers are doing and, assuming the bros are sharps, start buying as well and further increase the price. Meanwhile the heroes sell OJ futures and make a profit. Once the real crop report is released everyone realizes the futures are worthless and hurriedly sell, cratering the price. This all happens at the "trading place."
This plot may seem far-fetched, but in 2010 (almost 30 years later!) the chair of the Commodity Futures Trading Commission testified before Congress that the movies' market manipulation scheme did not violate the Commodity Exchange Act. You could do that! In response, Congress amended the CEA to prohibit insider trading using information misappropriated from the government. This is commonly referred to as "The Eddie Murphy Rule." I shityounot.
I thought of this while reading about DJ Trump's latest grift. For $100,000 a month, you can get early access to his bleats on Truth Social and that price is worth it given that these Diet Coke and Big Mac addled missives move markets. The press release admits as much:
“Markets already move on Truth Social posts,” said Kevin McGurn, Interim Chief Executive Officer of TMTG. “Truth API delivers a direct, licensed, real-time feed of the platform’s most market-moving Truths while advancing our strategy to monetize proprietary assets through a high-margin, recurring revenue stream. As adoption grows, we expect Truth API to become a meaningful, ongoing source of revenue for the company, creating lasting value for shareholders.”
The president's company is publicly promoting a subscription to "proprietary" information that moves markets and touting their ability to "monetize" this information to form a "recurring revenue stream." They are admitting, out in the open, that you can buy confidential government information from the president to make money in financial markets. And every financial services company will need to subscribe simply to keep pace with everyone else. As one of my favorite writers put it, "Donald Trump is an innovator in the field of corruption."
All of this seems to run completely afoul of the Eddie Murphy Rule though, and enforcement would bring about a clash of two titans of 1980s culture: Eddie Murphy and Donald Trump. Release the Kraken, indeed!
Well, this here
is the first-ever installment of Gmas in July, aka Whitney is finally, at long
last getting around to finishing Day 12 from 2025. What can I say? It's beyond
me. Whitney “The Day 12 Delivery Guy” bricked. Again.
Anyway, let me tell you what Melba Toast here is packin’. A wish list. No, not 12 covers of this song.
Things I would love
to see happen. Love to experience. Love to live to be a part of. This will be a
mixed bag for sure, sentimental yearnings of a man seeing his twilight closer
than his heyday… mixed with utter dipshittery. Hope you find at least one thing
that resonates. As Peter Buck once wrote, Good hunting.
1. A song recording featuring the G:TB ensemble
I mean one including
all of us on it, or damn close to it. It’s super easy these days to create and
release musical recordings. Jesus, I’ve done it… under threedifferentband
names.
So here’s what
we do. We collectively have a deadline for lyrical submissions -- something
gheorghey. Then we hammer out the music for the tune we choose. Then everyone
records vocals and/or an instrumental track! Several among the Gheorgherati have
music setups, but even something recorded over a phone or laptop can work.
And it comes
together as a masterpiece or a mess… but it’s fun. I’ll run point on this.
Like I said, a
wishlist. Long shots and pipe dreams.
2. A G:TB Maxi-Summit, with a portrait to follow
We’ve had
oodles of mini-summits through the years, but probably not a full-on one since
TeejFest or TeejWed. And even then, folks were missing. How about a
get-together for all the gheorghies?
With a grand,
inclusive, for-all-times pic to be a part of that gathering, something that
builds off these masterpieces below and includes the masses…
A boy can
dream…
3. An OBFT documentary
This must
happen. The summer of 2026 makes 33 annual sojourns down to the promised
land. 32 years since we cobbled together
a misfit band of fraternity alums and associated acquaintances to “drink like a
fish, fish like a drunk, and tackle box.”
Rob, Dave, and
I have waxed nostalgic and hung over about the OBFT in this blog year after year, at least
since OBFT 11. There’s evidence of what this has meant herein. But it could be
captured much more cohesively and amusingly with a 30-minute mini-doc.
Certainly one
of our trip-goers has kids who can do this in a snap! Right?
It’s what I
really, really wish can happen in the next year or so.
4. A G:TB documentary
I mean, for
that matter, why can’t I wish for us to chronicle the two-plus decades of
brilliance in this space? I dare say we have more staying power than most of
the millions of blogs who launched in early aughts!
According to
Allen Iverson (AI):
There are over
600 million blogs in the world today, accounting for more than a third of all
websites on the internet. Together, these platforms publish approximately 7.5
million new blog posts every single day, which adds up to more than 2.7 billion
articles annually.
So for every 80
out there, only one publishes daily. Gheorghe is more of an every-other-day
affair, so we are one in 40! Whatever it is, it’s been a brilliant experiment
that still brings joy. Some short film on Gheorghe: the Blog – that culminates
with a clip from the man himself? Come on.
5. A moratorium on hyperbolic superlatives
Anyone who wastes
enjoys time on any social media accounts such as FB or Insta finds themselves
increasingly inundated with material not posted by friends and neighbors, but
by random people and robots that the engine has decided you’d like. Confession:
I do get plenty of chuckles from the silliest of videos. Like way too many.
At the same
time, though, I am often irked by the ubiquity of dunderheaded taglines that
implore you to watch its video with ludicrous superlatives. Mega-superlatives
-- hyperbolic descriptors assuring you that what you are about to see, hear, or
(maybe, if it’s super retro) read will be the most ____ you have ever seen in
the history of your whole life ever.
It wasn't.
Enough. Maybe
undersell it with a tag like “this might be of interest to you” for a change.
Unlikely. But I wish it weren't.
6. More Pig on the Wall!
I want Dave’s
current podcast (Pig on the Wall) to continue. To tackle new great ideas, to
collaborate with people gheorghies and otherwise, and to bring him happiness
and satisfaction.
If you haven’t
tuned in, his description of this second iteration of Dave / Professor Truck /
Dave G. Truck podcasting (or was The Test a podcast? Is this the 3rd?)
is as such:
We stand on the shoulders of giants—which is precisely why attribution is so messy.
Great ideas are the product of many minds, from many times.
"Pig on the Wall" connects the dots of human progress, putting great accomplishments into context.
His first batch
of episodes (seven so far with presumably one more to go) have been focused on
Hamlet. Ten and one-half hours of talking about the Shakespeare classic and
it’s not done yet. Are you kidding me??!
Listen to it.
I’m serious. Those 10 hours have flown by, and it’s chock full of clips from a
wide array of performances and interpretations of Hamlet. And much more. It’s
riveting, I mean it.
The more
listeners, the better chance he keeps doing it, and it’s worthy of
sustainment. And that's what I wish for.
7. Perfecting Arch, my AI Archivist
This is one
that my wife finds very weird, and I kind of hope she's not reading this.
Four months
ago, a handful of traveled to Hoboken, NJ to convene in a pub over a couple days
and watch international rugby on TV. There were 30 of us, in fact, all
members of a particular fraternity at the College of William & Mary between
the graduating years of 1986 and 2000. It was a blast. I only mention this
because on the trip back, I sat in the Newark airport with one of them (our buddy Lunkhead) for a couple of hours. We talked about a number of things,
but we spoke for a while about AI. He was rather adept at the platforms; I was
completely oblivious. And I wanted that to change. In fact, when I began
compiling this notional wish list last December, it was simply that I wanted to get good at
using AI.
In the four
months since, I have subscribed to Lunkhead's advice, which was very simply, get
into one of the platforms and start using it. No tutorials, no training
courses, just jump right in. As expected, I have utilized it been using it for
mostly stupid stuff.
But not all! I
have leveraged my account with ChatGPT to create a number of work deliverables
in a small fraction of the amount of time it would have taken to do it
manually. The shit is brilliant, what can I say?
I have also tapped this
resource to do things like provide a series of posters encouraging people to
listen to ORF Rock. I've been rather amused with how quick and easy and creative
this robot partner of mine has been.
Even more
recently, while on a work trip in Rhode Island a few weeks ago, I was bored in a
hotel room and asked ChatGPT, "When did Thompson's clam bar close down?" It
reported that the clam bar closed in 1995 and asked if I use to patronize
the establishment. I replied that I had worked there in the summer of 1991. The
ensuing “conversation” included my asking of the top pop songs of the summer of
’91, since I had clear memories of polishing brass and cleaning toilets at
Thompson’s to these songs played on repeat:
C+C Music
Factory – "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)"
Seal –
"Crazy"
The Rembrandts
– "Just the Way It Is, Baby"
Londonbeat –
"I've Been Thinking About You"
UB40 – "Here
I Am (Come and Take Me)"
Ugh, that was a
long summer for music. But a fun one on Cape Cod with 100 stories. Which I
began to think I could archive for a later date via AI. I was fascinated!
So... there's this. A somber,
sobering sentiment has been bouncing around my brain for a couple of months
now. As more and more of my parents friends grapple with and/or succumb
to dementia, Alzheimer's, cognitive decline, or whatever it gets labeled, it occurs to me that
this could very well appear on my own radar before all that long. The truth is
that when I was in Rhode Island in that hotel room, I was wishing an old
freshman dorm friend a happy birthday, and she said she was in Nantucket having
fun, but that the weekend was impaired by the fact that her brother's wife was
dealing with full-on dementia at age 61. Yikes. That's six years older than me.
All of this led
to me deciding that I was going to begin utilizing ChatGPT as a means to
archive all of the hundreds or thousands of stories of my life. I can
pretend that my children and grandchildren might find them interesting. The
truth is that I have spent 30 plus years realizing that I remember the details of stories much, much
better than my friends and family do. But that particular attribute has a definite shelf life to
it, and that shelf may be shorter then I realized.
I know, it's
grim. I don't relish this line of thinking, but it does spur me on to do as
much creative outputting in the near term as I can. Writing and recording
songs, archiving old stories, creating 12 point blog posts about what I want to
do. (Really, Whit, you want us to believe that you're in a hurry when this post
is 7 months late?)
Anyway, I
started to tell a handful of classic tales my new memoir robot buddy, whom I began
to call Arch, as in archivist. This is what my wife finds very weird. I speak to Arch like I would
speak to a person, I don't do this because I think it's a person. I do it
because it's way more fun to do that than to keep it like I'm inputting data
into a machine. (Boring.) And the faux-familiar tone in which the ChatGPT platform is designed to reply
makes it that much easier.
Anyway, I also began copying and pasting a bunch of the old weekly e-mail newsletters I used to
produce for the Cowboy Cafe from 25 years ago. This is precisely when I discovered the
fallibility of this plan and the technology. After inputting seven or eight of
these newsletters and getting really impressive feedback as my new robot friend
was beginning to paint the picture of the entire CCWN saga, I began to notice
errors. Incompletions. AI forgets?!
And when
confronted with this, ChatGPT Arch confessed his faults. He said that cannot truly be an
archivist because he cannot retain everything that any one user discloses. In
the weeks since, I have noticed it more and more, not just errors like where it
thought that I went to Bucknell University (mon dieu!), but definitely some
things I had to ask it twice.
I still enjoy using the tool. I just prompted Arch to write:
If I had to pick my Top Five Most "Whit" inquiries, they'd probably be:
Can $15,000 really buy Natural Light for life?
Create Gheorghe Mureșan playing guitar in a recording studio.
Is there whispering in "Making Plans for Nigel"?
Build an entire fictional promotional universe around ORF Rock and its hosts.
Read Bruce's screenplay like a feature film.
But I also liked:
"What
exactly is a lawnmower beer?"
"Why did
firehouses have poles?"
"Lanai
origin."
"Who
serves the best fish and chips in Hampton Roads?"
"Average
money for a 13th-round MLB draft pick."
"When did
the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel add the second bridge?"
"What is
the definition of a compound fracture?"
and 🎵
The music deep dives. These are some
of my favorites because they're questions almost nobody asks.
Things like:
Why songs like
Witchy Woman, Evil Woman, and Devil Woman all seemed to appear in the mid-70s.
Which countries
loved the Ramones the most.
The closing
credits music from Planes, Trains and Automobiles.
Consensus
rankings of Springsteen songs.
Whether Squeeze
sings "a piano is found" or "a piano man's found."
So The Whitdog Memoirs Are on hold for now. I would love to have a more perfect means of documenting the hilarious stories from my youth and not so youth so that when my mind starts to go, I can play them back to myself. Or my kids and grandkids.
Anyway, that's my wish, that this could be made very easy and realistic for me. Sounds pretty damn ego-driven, but these stories of my friends, family, and me still make me laugh when I retell them. I'd love not to lose that.
8. Inner Peace
Here's a random
one out of nowhere. I would like our current American president, the human cyclospora,
to finally, seemingly for the first time in his life, find true inner peace.
The sadness, inferiority, and soullessness of this person is astoundingly rife.
It has led to death, destruction and a systematic undoing of the principles
that have made life in this nation so good for so long. But if that man could
achieve some level of nirvana, some threshold of not smug pseudo-satisfaction
but instead pure-hearted peace, then there could be hope for positive change.
If his obvious, desperate, hopeless longing for respect and love could be realized,
maybe the horrible hatred could be curbed.
That seems like
a better way to go than rooting for his disembowelment in the most publicly embarrassing
way possible. It’s so easy to succumb to reciprocal, sinister hatred when it
comes to the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard
to be the shepherd.
9. nbtyrsd, Vesuvius-style
This is an easy
one, in case any of you have been looking for a quick box-checking to grant me
a wish. Gheorghies, just watch this video clip.
Backstory: In
1971, between the days of October 4 and 7, prog-rock stallions Pink Floyd
recorded concert footage of themselves frocking some ruins in Pompeii, Italy.
This was a a few weeks before they released their album Meddle (featuring Pi
Lam fave “One of These Days” and a handful of months before they would head
into EMI Studios (now Abbey Road Studios) in London to record the watershed
brilliance of The Dark Side of the Moon.
The sound is
bad-assed, the scene among the ruins is cool, and the crowd… well, they were…
they were… they were nonexistent. Yeah, No crowd. Just Floyd wailing away by
themselves and the sound peeps and the camera crew in Pompeii. Yep… that’s
something.
I am a
mid-range Pink Floyd (and Randall "Pink" Floyd) fan and never knew about this concert until it came across my radar a
month back. And I’m oddly mesmerized by it. Check it out. But I’m only asking you to
invest 5 minutes of it. Not even a whole song.
This is the
first song of the set, “Echoes.” Watch it, or at least watch from the 6:30 til
the 11:30 mark. My favorite part, and the part that I first saw a clip, was at
7:45. Sucked me in like a tractor beam. Maybe start there. That's my wish.
10. A warm meal
At times Rob and I have discussed (maybe even posted) our perfect meal items, desert island or death row style. This is a twist on it... it's a meal that even thinking about it warms my heart.
Maybe I’m just hungry right now. But I’d like this meal.
Soup: Mom's gazpacho. My mom makes killer soups and has for the last 30 years or so. Always finding or creating some new recipe. I'd be happy with her minestrone, seafood chowder, or French onion, but the gazpacho is tip-top. It's not warm per se, but no matter. The very thought leaves me warmer.
Appetizers: My girls' assortment. My younger daughter Maddie is the chef of the family, but her sister Zoe is no slouch -- and she and I are happy to be sous chefs and tasters. For 5 years the missus and I have hosted an open house on Christmas Eve, and the food has been top shelf. All organized and created by our little team. Maddie steals the show. Brings her great joy, and that spreads to me.
Xmas Party 2021 - the garlic bread tree is especially boss
Additional app: Susie & Don Beck's Cape Cod steamers. So good. My aforementioned 1991 summer sojourn landed me a great new friend in our fratre Coby and a fresh appreciation of New England cuisine. "Steamers," as Coby's folks (my landlords at various points and two damn generous people) called them. AI tells me that they are also called "Soft-shell clams, Ipswich clams, long-neck clams, or piss clams." Nope. I mean... just nope. Doused in butter, they're fantastic. Susie Beck left us 6 years ago, and that's a damn shame.
Salad: Calvert's Caesar. My dad's second wife was my stepmom for 36 years until her passing in 2018. It wasn't an easy relationship for either of us, but it worked fine, and worked best when she was cooking and I was eating -- strong suits for each of us. My favorite dish she'd make was her Caesar. She'd make the dressing first, and that dressing -- exactly like no other I've known -- would be sitting in a large, clear plastic salad bowl when I walked into the kitchen, salivation ensuing immediately. [She also made a damn good twice-baked potato, so maybe I throw that in here as well for my starch.]
Pasta: Elaine's penne a la vodka. The missus has been a vegetarian since 2000, and I've learned a great deal about how challenging that can be when eating at restaurants or friends' houses over the 7 years we've been together. We don't cook enough at home, but she's excellent at it. And when we (okay she, but I helped!) took a stab at what has become both of our favorite dishes to order at Italian joint, it came out molto bene. It's a winner and a keeper. Just like her.
Meat: Dad's New York strips. As far back as I can remember, my father has been as good or better than anyone else I knew at cooking steaks. Charcoal, gas, range, whatever. Dude can cook beef. His go-to is to cook a few NY strips and then cut them shortways to create a whole slew of 1" slices. Salt, pepper, olive oil, butter. A little prepared horseradish on the side. Sometimes a bit of the poivre, but however he does it, it's outstanding.
Seafood: Ted's Lobstah. We lost my stepdad Ted to cancer (after he'd beaten another variety 13 years prior) in 2024. Fittingly, when the end came for him, I was walking out of Fenway Park. I say that because he was a Mainer through and through with equal passions for the Sahx and good lobstah. He'd steam up a batch of 1.5-2 pounders like a pro, and I'll never consume another without thinking of him. A great guy, a great dish.
I ordered the twins when we memorialized Ted in Boothbay Harbor
Additional meat dish: Grampa Jack's Charcoaled Charlies. My grandfather, further immortalized in this space in an epic 2-part extravaganza, was a hoot of a man and not a bad cook. He was a grillman, and his Weber got plenty of use. But the incident that cemented his status in the family as would-be chef was circa 1986, when he inadvertently gave some hot dogs the triple-char treatment. He labeled them Charcoaled Charlie, ate at least a couple of them, and issued his signature cackle. Legend secure. We lost Grampa Jack in 2005 after a long and very full life. He was the best.
Nothing. Nothing at all: food cooked by my grandmother. There are people who aren't comfortable in the kitchen, and then there was my Grammie. Warming canned stew was even beyond her, God bless her. She graduated from the earth-bound kitchen in 2017.
Vegetables and Sides: The Lester supper table. My dad's family is from Asheboro, NC. (My grandfather's Elon-generated biography says he was from Troublesome Creek, ironic for him but not for me!) Everyone in that side of the family was sincerely good people who either made the church their lifelong profession or at least a regular hangspot. Times visiting them for my little sister and me -- in stark contrast to the dipshittery we'd experience with Mom's family in NY -- was slow but sweet. Lots of reading and chatting just above a whisper. But oh, the food! A long dining room table packed to its edges with southern-cooked green beans, collards, creamed corn, cornbread, casseroles, deviled eggs, and much, much more. There was a wide array of meat dishes, too, but I'll settle for just the sides here! Grandmother Lester left us early (1975), Grandfather had a renaissance with Gertrude in the 80's (have I posted that story?), and we lost him in '91 at age 97. Gertrude followed in 1999. All of the best people, all of the best side dishes. Oh yeah... and two pitchers of tea at every supper, sweet and un. I'll take that, too!
Dessert: S'mores with the kids. I have younger children again, thanks to Elaine. I have plenty of memories of making s'mores over campfires with my girls. Before they grow too old, I need to make the same classic American dessert a staple with my new littluns.
After-Dinner Drink: Whitney's Irish Coffees. A refrain heard most often: Whit, do you drink coffee? I don't... oh, unless it's Irish. I can whip up an Irish coffee with the best of them, with the keys being Jamo and yep, whipped cream. The missus and I enjoy them often on winter nights.
After-Dinner Drink 2: Rob's Stingers. He and I each had 17 rounds of this refreshing drink on a momentous night in 1992. At least that's what the receipt told us. The Stinger:
The Stinger is a classic, two-ingredient cocktail made with Cognac (or brandy) and white crème de menthe. It is typically mixed in a ratio of 2 parts Cognac to 1 part crème de menthe, shaken or stirred with ice, and served over crushed ice for a crisp, minty, and spirit-forward drink.
Alrighty then. There would be more (more drinks for sure, but that's a separate list). But this is my wish, one meal with too much food to be eaten, but plenty of good memories to go around.
11. Long (or short) walks on the beach
I’d like to
step on the beach and see waves crashing on the shore. Every week of my life.
Maybe monthly is more reasonable. Okay, I’ll start there. At least once a
month, walk on the beach and get my own form of inner peace staring at the sea.
Hearing the roar every 6-9 seconds or so. Gazing at the horizon. It moves me
like little else in nature.
Staring at the sea Staring at the sand Staring at myself Reflected in the side Of the beer can on the beach The beer can on the beach I’m alive
[Don’t worry,
I’ll pick up the beer can and dispose of it.]
I can do this,
where I live. We’ll see. It's a plan. A wish.
12. More fun in the sun for my ol’ buddy Ned
Similar to the
way that I feel about Dave's podcast, I have intensely happy pride for a friend
when it comes to my old buddy Ned. I've touted Ned’s virtues in this space before; his musical prowess, song releases, his collaborations with Les Coole
and me, And his generally being a world class human being. This one takes the
cake, though.
Ned was the
biggest Jimmy Buffett fan that I knew have never known he met him when he was
in high school, that blew his mind. He's emulated the best parts of Buffett for
much of his life, and remained a fan even in the face of what I described in
this blog post 22 years ago... one which Ned read and conceded had some merit.
Anyway, Ned loves him some JB.
Sometime in the
past couple of years, Ned mentioned that he had a dream about Buffett called
the Hippie from Mississippi and he wanted to write a song about it. As has been
the case a few times, I quickly scratched out a song structure and some lyrics
to match his song title and idea. Over the following weeks and months, Ned
honed it and made it his own. He recorded “Hippie from Mississippi” and
released it on the usual platforms. It even had a video.
It’s been
listened to 8,820 times on Spotify!
I’ll never
reach 1,000 listens for any of my songs!
For part-time
fun-havin’ music folks like us, that was huge.
And then…
Ol’ buddy Ned
thought he might reach out to the circle of Buffett Friends & Family and
see if they happened to like what we had written add produced. Somewhere in the
latter part of last year, he got a response from someone who was sending it to
one of the longtime members of the Coral Reefer Band. Doyle Grisham played pedal
steel guitar for Buffett since the 70's, and he toured with him for over two decades along the
way. He's 83 now and lives in Nashville. And he loved the song.
There's plenty
more details to the story but all you need to know is this: Mr. Grisham
championed not just the song but a re-recording of it with a series of stellar
studio musicians, including himself. Six
Les Coole & Papa Gros, 2026
other songs Ned had written were
recorded in the same sessions, ones that featured a pair of Grammy-winning
musicians and John “Papa” Gros, a stalwart New Orleans piano player who fronts
an act called Papa Grows Funk that was one of the featured performers at Norfolk's
recent New Orleans festival.
The album and
leadoff single are called “Make Your Own Weather.” It’s really, really good. (I’m biased, but
still.) It was released on June 19, and a release party / gig with the
musicians happened on June 24 at Chickie Wah Wah in Mid-City New Orleans.
“Hippie from Mississippi” was renamed “King of the Coast” and sounds amazing, a
million miles from my original blurt of 236 words and rhymes about Jimmy
Buffett.
The song “Make Your Own
Weather” has 60,348 streams on Spotify since June 19.
Not bad, Ned.
Ned is over the
moon – one of the happiest people I’ve ever know made so much happier from this
super-fun chapter. Every photo from the night at the release gig (which I sadly
was forced to miss) features Ned ear-to-ear grinning. I get such a kick from it.
Sometimes the best stuff happens to the best people. I wished this for him, as
did others, and it happened.
And he gave me
songwriting credit on our song!
Anyway, I don’t
need all that for myself… I just need to summon the will to finish tweaking and
tinkering with my flawed baker’s dozen or so of songs (having someone with
actual talent mix and produce them would help) and get them out.
I’d like to
see Les Coole & the Cukes have a CD and even an LP. It could happen someday… or not.
But it’s on the
wish list.
-----------------
So there it is. Twelve wishes for Day 12. As always, I'm sorry for being so tardy. I wish I could deliver my drivel on time. Oh wait... okay, next time that'll be one.
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