There must be a hundred new songs lying around here. As usual I won't finish them unless I go into the studio and tell myself that I'm making a new record. There's always that tree falling in a forest thing that reminds me that it's all silly.
Then there's this blog thing, too. Could I be so arrogant as to imagine that it matters, that someone cares?
Well, now sir, I'm pretty sure that I've told you this before- I do it for me. Oh, I want somebody to like it. Desperately, I want someone to like it. My life's work, though, and I use the term loosely, is to be Ronny Elliott. You'd think it might come easily to me.
I probably tell Jamaica and Angel that I love them a dozen times a day. They probably get tired of hearing it. Blah, blah, blah, Jamaica. Blah, blah, blah, Angel.
I love you, too. I know, I know- blah, blah, blah.