Hello everyone, everywhere,

This week, we talk music. But just before we do, I have to say that Michelle and Dean just got back from LA. Dean’s a science teacher and they were at a science conference. Poor Michelle was walking down a street, minding her own business, and some creep with a line from the sixties says to her as she’s going by, “Hey there, lady!” So Michelle keeps walking by, looking the other way, and the guy yells at her, “Fuck you, bitch!” And Michelle thinks to herself, “They don’t know how to talk to Canadian women here”.

My life, for better or worse, starts and ends with music. I am sixty-one years old, and I feel and play like…I could have made it to the big time. And at that moment when I was asked…I gave the wrong answer.

That’s it.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest. Tonight’s piece was brought on by too many pop stars. As an old musician, I just needed to vent.


Dance and play to the sun they will; cries from long-missed time.

I am a musician. A real one. No one tweaked me or set the lights just so.

Oh, I came from a time when you had to earn it.

Hundreds of miles from one to the other. Darkness. Highway, white-out from snow.

That never stopped me. It was part of the show.

You fight all the bullshit, smile at the crowd. They look at you. Hey! You’re too fuckin’ loud!

Huddling together with nothing to say. But forty years later I’m still here to play.


By jamesghutcheson

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