What’s that spinning voodoo I hear? Is that whirling, swirling sound the tidy bowl man’s last hurrah? Perhaps my stomach is informing my brain that two...
It is 4 p.m.Tuesday in 1970 and I am running as fast as I possibly can. Despite the bows on my PF Flyer tennis shoes being...
Frank Zappa famously said, “Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.” And I must admit that I do agree, at least to a certain extent....
Road Trip! Gas? Check. Ice chest full of snacks and bottled water? Check. Cool Ranch Doritos (I only eat them on long drives)? Yep. Tunes? Ummm…...
“Seaholm!” Screamed out my band teacher, Mr. Underwood. He usually screamed to get my attention, so I always tried to give him a good reason. The...
Music hangs heavy in the air like the sweetly acrid scent of kudzu on a hot and humid Georgia night. From across the Parkway Bar, the...
It was a rocky start. Well, not initially. I’d made arrangements to stay with friends that lived in Dana Point (about 30 miles away from Anaheim),...
My earliest memory is of silence. I’m an infant, a couple of months old. I am lying in a bed next to my sister Janice, who’s...
We had a yard sale here several weeks ago. While trolling through the troves of junk in search of potential money—making contenders, I happened up on...
