Well, it's 60 degrees out there. Beautiful. It's time for me to settle in for gloom. When the weather gets nice, I grow melancholy. Could be worse. It could be spring.
I've often described myself as an acquired taste, the brussel sprouts of americana. It now dawns on me that I'm more a moldy loaf of bread as a mate. It's clearly time to re-invent myself and I don't know how. There was a time when I merely went to the barber shop, asked for a flattop, and- voila,
a new version.