
Some chicken, some beer, 13 years, and some kids who are now clearly smarter than you were at the same age: Don’t ask me why I have a bag of ballpark peanuts in my kitchen …
Exclusive until I get my own reality show.
If I had a Twitter account, I would have fumbled this out with a smartphone after 4 rum and cokes. But I don’t have either, so I’ll fumble it out on an antique comfort-curve keyboard and a PC weighing roughly as much as a tractor engine. After 4 rum and cokes: The crash of an airplane costing 43 people their lives today is an event that transcends affinities to sports or leagues or teams or vocations at all. It was a human event. Tragic and sorrowful. The sort of happening that creates a feeling of anti-gravity in your stomach and a sensation that your heart is trying to make its way to the bottom of your feet. Nobody with more than two brain cells to rub together to [...]

That’s how it sounds. And it’s my first new guitar in over 16 years. It’s an American Standard Telecaster — they’ve gone back to the brass bridge, but no palm-shredding ashtray bullshit. There were roughly 26 of these in the Guitar Center, Boston location and I asked to play every damned one. The same song. For 2 hours. This is the pick of the litter. 3-tone Sunburst. If Bryan Adams had an extra $100 he wouldn’t have settled for the crappy black one back when I was 14.