No Insulation

Another friend asked, "Why don't you write a book?"

My short answer is usually that my stories don't have any substance. Don Garlits offered me a job. Elvis said that he would teach me karate. Speedo took me to a party. Sounds like three good chapters, huh?

Well, Big Daddy didn't give me a job and Elvis didn't teach me a lick of karate. Looking back, Speedo took me to the party because there were young, white girls in his hotel room and I was his idea of a calming effect.

Having lived a long time I've got lots and lots of stories. Most of them would make really short chapters.

The bulk of my existence has been centered in my head and in my heart. The time, money and energy that I have invested in romance overshadow any love story. I'm afraid that I don't rate my own chapter in anyone else's book.

Oh, I've been places, too, but I've never seen much. Wait, I take that back. Loch Ness. I've seen Loch Ness. I didn't see any monster but I saw lots of lake.

Having failed at romance, let me say that I have loved. That part I've gotten down. Sometimes I'm almost overcome with the love in my life. Dogs, cats, friends and relatives- it's everywhere. As my friend, Panama Red, says, "At this point in life I know more dead people than ones who are alive." Doesn't change a thing. Love's love. It doesn't go away. Except in books and movies.

It surely won't go away in my book. Who knows, maybe they'll make a good movie out of it.