- editorial meeting
- day at the beach
- when everything matches
- perfectly coordinated outfit
- rock a bye baby
- can’t do a thing with her hair
- punkin pie
Driving into Amarillo through a wall of thunderstorms twice as wide as my windshield and almost as dark as my soul, staring out at the endless plains looking like the waves of some stony ocean on a forbidden planet, I felt about as far away from NOLA as possible, but now that I’ve got these tunes for the next leg of my trip, I feel much better. And yes, he (being me) does still have a bit of time to make his crazy pictures between interviews with attorneys and private eyes and the notorious Fat Cat and an old friend of Stanley the Creeper. Sure. Tomorrow, we find a place that sells scotch whiskey BEFORE we check in at the hotel. Plus, an Apple store, if there’s one between here & there, having left my charger/usb link back in Fort Worth. Have you heard about the giant boxes full of iPhone links and other cell phone deitrus these hotel clerks collect and sell on craigslist? Jesus, you could probably make some money that way. I’m in the wrong racket!
PS: I’ve been focusing on murder ballads, a genre that loosely describes “St. James Infirmary,” in both my club act and in some of my related writing and blogging for the past three or four years. See some of my other posts on the topic here and here.






