Bazinga!

 

Over the last two months Susan and I have gobbled up all seven seasons of The Big Bang Theory available on DVD as I write. It has became something of an obsession, really, and after one binge viewing session we'd enjoy another the following evening. This, despite the fact we had successfully ignored it - and Susan's boss, aghast we had never watched it, and insisting we do - for a full seven years since the first episode aired. The thing is, we don't watch television - just DVDs and BluRays - so remain only partly aware of the hit or good shows, and blissfully unaware of a great many others. (On a regular basis, customers trade in DVDs of series' at the store that I have never heard of or read about.)  Anyway, whenever TBBT DVDs have come in, they've usually been snapped up immediately, so when good condition copies of the first five seasons came into the store in December, as a store perk available to me is borrowing movies I decided to bring them home to see what the fuss was about.

 

It didn't take too long before we were absolutely hooked, and bought the lot! Not for nothing does a sitcom in this age of distraction and byte-sized 'entertainment' reach eight seasons,  but with TBBT it is extremely easy to see why. This show is so funny, sharp, poignant, emotional, observant and beautifully written and acted, that it truly is up there with the sitcom royalty of such as Frasier, Friends et al. We have watched 159 episodes so far (only behind on Season 8, yet to be released on DVD), and have loved every single one! Seriously, the brilliant writing team has yet to come close to dropping the ball, and in pretty much every episode there is at least one line so funny that we have to press pause on the remote control, laugh ourselves to the point of exhaustion, then regain composure, wipe away the tears, and rejoin the episode. It's that funny. Adding to the pleasure of this joyous experience is the regular social commentary, when the writers throw in barbed comments in directions thoroughly deserving of them, a factor that often makes us cheer out loud! 

 

The obvious ilk of Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, The Sopranos and Six Feet Under aside, it's been been a long time since I fell so hard for a show, especially a sitcom. Far from it being comedy aimed at the lowest common denominator, if you will - I would include such as the Hangover trilogy, American Pie and all that dumb shit - this is sophisticated, yet direct humour, appreciated across the board by just about everyone. We have an unfortunately currently housebound university professor friend recovering from a serious car smash, so we've been feeding her DVDs to keep her entertained. She thinks TBBT is just about the funniest show she's ever seen! With this in mind, I've pondered the huge appeal TBBT has for me/us, dissecting the elements that make it so magical.

 

Firstly, it is, as I say, uproariously funny. The lines written for each character are perfectly in tune with their carefully developed personalities, and delivered to a tee by the impeccably cast ensemble. Comic timing is all, but will always fall flat in the face of flaccid material. Quite how the TBBT writers have managed to remain so consistently high on the hilarious-o-meter for what is now just one season short of 200 episodes is utterly bewildering, but as long as they continue to produce such side-splitting material and develop the characters at the perfect pace they have done so far, this show can run and run. The producers of The Simpsons should take note.

 

Secondly, I relate emotionally to traits of every single character. It's all about outsiders, nerds, geeks and dreamers who occupy their own place in this world to the puzzlement of much of the rest of society. It celebrates, rather than excludes, the 'different' folks among us, in this instance (principally) those brilliant souls in the arena of science that no one ever thinks about, but without whom this world would not turn. Besides their achievements it looks at their quirks, insecurities and vulnerabilities - such as the very real, awful situation of being alone, yet having no clue how to rectify it - and it does so with great compassion.

 

One aspect of this is looking at the characters as true products of their parents and families, so despite their glorious uniqueness they are presented as very real, very human. The show considers the pressures of succeeding under the keen eyes of parents that are, variously, cold, aloof and detached; religiously pious; overbearingly suffocating and needy, or - in the case of Raj - determined that their offspring conform to societal tradition (by agreeing to an arranged marriage). It also examines culture clashes, the complex nature of relationships between people of radically different backgrounds, and... oh man, I could go on and on.

 

In an article in the British newspaper The Guardian last October,  the correspondent called TBBT "an unstoppable force," and as a committed fan that's how it seems. In this world of increasing horrific violence and chaos, this is a show that brings a massive amount of joy to an awful lot of people: 18,000,000 Americans tuned into the premiere episode of Season 8, for heaven's sake; it remains the most watched show on US TV, and one of the most watched of all time, continually shattering its own viewing figures stats.

 

To have a right royal belly laugh at the end of a day filled with grim headlines, work drudgery and the rigours of everyday 21st century life - well, it is everything, at least to Susan and I. It's not that we bury our heads in the sand as to the madness all around us - far from it, especially me - but for as long as we wish to we can escape it all in the bosom of TBBT, laughing our heads off as we salute people, albeit fictitious characters, that we relate to in so many ways. Because our tastes are generally more aligned to alternative subcultures than the mainstream, we are far from typical people of our age; there are many out there who think we're weird, but it's simply the way we are, and we will change for nobody. I'm sure that this lies at the very core of why we love these beautiful characters of TBBT so much: just like us, whether the show's inhabitants are genii or not, they are still regular people.

 

We can't wait for Season 8 to be released on DVD. We'll blast through it as we have the previous seven, then likely start all over again to try catch the bits we missed when laughing our asses off so hard. Yeah, laughter really is the best medicine, and this is a world in great need of it right now. If you read this and for some reason, like us, you've let TBBT pass you by for any given reason, do yourself a favour and jump aboard. You won't regret it, I promise.

 

Swiftmas

So, here begins another year on Planet Earth. As for the last one, it was in many ways a great and significant year from a personal perspective, but it ended with me under something of a cloud. The ills and incomprehensible evils of the world, coupled with a degree of uncertainty concerning various areas of my life, left me feeling kind of glum and introspective as we headed into the festive season. I continue to work through it, as ever supported by my astonishing wife and soul mate, and will get there soon, but sometimes a little boost to cheer me up can come from the most unexpected of sources: Taylor Swift, for example.

 

I couldn't care less for Swift's music, either when she was a country megastar or, having this year made a seamless transition to the current undisputed Queen of Pop, now she rules the airwaves and hearts of teenagers everywhere. I appreciate that she writes all her own material and possesses a degree of vocal and dancing talent, but that slick pop sound is just not for me. Nonetheless, I do have huge admiration for the girl, especially as she seems very determined to do things her way, come what may.

 

For starters, her brave stance over Spotify was amazing and startling for such a huge star, yet rather than provoke a backlash it appears to have propelled her to even greater heights. But yesterday I watched two videos on YouTube that served to not only move me, but further enhance her reputation in my opinion as one of the most valid, grounded, genuine and human pop stars to emerge in decades. Her care for her fans, and focused determination to remain as closely connected to them as possible, is quite extraordinary. When viewing the first video below, in which she goes out of her way to bring such personalized joy to some of her millions of fans this Christmas, could easily be cynically viewed as a genius marketing exercise, but I see it very differently. I see Swift's gestures as simply the actions of a level-headed, sweet and kind young woman doing what she can, within the parameters of power she retains in a totally abnormal life, in order to pay back some of those who have supported her hard work to achieve a position of great wealth and privilege. It would be so easy to rest on her laurels in a metaphorical ivory tower, but not this young lady. Just watch, and try to hold back the tears of joy; Susan and I couldn't.

 

 

She doesn't have to do this. We imagine that no one told her to, or advised it as a great idea to win over yet more people, as that could only happen if one enjoys Swift's music, which we certainly do not. She did it because she wants to, because it's important to her. There doesn't seem anything remotely cynical, calculated or manufactured about Swift: she's just a lovely girl doing her best to keep her feet on the ground, always remembering those who put her where she is. As a red-blooded male I obviously find her stunningly pretty and sexy, but her personality is even more attractive than her physical attributes. It shines through in this second video, in which she is interviewed by craggy ol' Barbara Walters.

 

 

 

Wow. What a babe. She seems so totally in control of her life and career in an industry still dominated by men, to the extent that I cannot imagine any record company executive even trying to suggest following a path other than the one she has mapped out for herself. That's awesome, isn't it? 

 

There's something else about Swift I personally relate to very strongly, and that's the importance of reinvention. In 2014 she relocated to New York City (probably a career-driven move, but why stay in Nashville if she's leaving country music behind?), and drastically overhauled her sound. The result? The biggest selling album of the year! I, too, in some perhaps subtler ways, underwent both an organic and partially self-motivated reinvention last year. "Change is as good as a rest," my dear old grandmother used to say, and it's one of her many little wisdoms that has stayed lodged in my head since childhood.

 

I didn't begin 2014 with any great plans in mind as to what I wanted from the year; everything that happened simply happened, but I'm glad it all did. In the wake of this period of change, embarking upon 2015 I now have plans and desires in mind, things I would like to have achieved and done by the time 2016 dawns, so we'll see where it goes and I'll evaluate the situation in twelve months time. Perhaps Taylor Swift followed a grand plan she had for her own 2014, or perhaps she didn't, but the fact remains she is a giving human being and truly valid role model for young folks of both sexes, wherever they may be. In a world currently experiencing such pain and suffering, that's something to hold onto as a glint of light in the darkness.  

 

        

Another Cat That Destroyed Christmas

 

Just the other day Susan and I were chuckling over this photo blog thingy (clumsily) entitled '14+ Dogs and Cats That Destroyed Christmas.' It's far from unique, of course; there are lots of variations on this theme all over the Interwebs; cats do, after all, own it.

 

When viewing it we thanked our lucky stars that we seem to own a cat that (note: past tense) didn't seem to be interested in joining such a club, which we are aware has a great many members around the world. It's what they do. But then, as if on cue, he started taking ornaments off the Christmas tree in the middle of the night, and in the morning we'd find it or them somewhere it or they shouldn't be. This has continued for a few days, but the new trend is that he'll bring his new toys to the bed, so we'll wake up surrounded by all manner of sparkly junk.

 

This morning, we woke up to the spectacle you see above. Compared to the carnage unleashed by some of the little gits featured in those blogs, it's not a big deal, but that  Reggie's Christmas tree obsession seems to be escalating naturally causes concern. Sweeping up the plastic pine needles the tree shed when falling, I managed to cut my finger open on a shard of broken ornament. My finger turned red, the air turned blue, and Reggie's name is currently suspended in favour of "Little Grey Mofo" until I've calmed down a bit.

 

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE! (Except you, Reggie.)  

All Too Much

Every morning I follow a routine I enjoy. I crawl out of bed, switch on the coffee machine that my wife has lovingly pre-primed, and head to the office to turn on the computer to read the news, check and respond to emails, and read various blogs. It's how I like to start my day.

The first thing I do is check the news, usually starting with the BBC website. Increasingly in recent times, I click on the link with a degree of trepidation, such is the flow of horror and misery emanating from the human world these days. I wonder what awful shit will stare back at me first thing in the morning. Today, however, the headline that greeted me indicated a new low for humankind, truly a level of evil beyond the comprehension of any right-thinking individual.

In Pakistan, 132 children and nine adults have been massacred by the Taliban. This madness comes on the same day that fifteen schoolgirls were blown to pieces by car bombs in Yemen, and in the same week that news broke of four Christian children being beheaded by ISIS psychopaths in Iraq. When I hear these things, it is difficult to articulate my despair. I lose all hope for our species as by these acts we are dragged deeper and deeper into a seemingly irreversible downward spiral, with maniacs like the Taliban, ISIS, Boko Haram and their evil, twisted ideologies, using children as "political pawns" in their insane strides to make the world theirs.

I don't give a flying fuck about their grievances with the US, "the West," or anyone else - presumably EVERYONE who does not share their demented views of how the world should function - as there is not a single reason, however lucid it may seem to them, that these barbaric, brainwashed fuckers could offer to justify or rationalize their depraved atrocities. Without conscience, these monsters are executing CHILDREN, every young life destroyed nudging us closer and closer to a return to the Dark Ages. In the grand scheme, we're probably already there and nicely settled in.  

It is a couple of months over ten years since the horrifying Beslan school massacre in North Ossetia, in which almost 400 hundred people were killed, including a great many children. Like anyone I was stunned into numbness at that awful event, so much so that I felt compelled to include a reference to it in an email I sent to my promoting outfit's mailing list, only ever used to deliver information on our forthcoming shows. I remember clearly one response from a guy who upon receipt of it asked to be removed from the mailing list, as he had signed up to hear about concerts, not - I quote - my "fragile state of mind about the state of the world." I wonder how he is feeling today?

I vainly hoped against hope that the low humankind had descended to in the "modern era" with the Beslan siege might signal a turning point, whereby the perpetrators and those around the world who subscribe to such beliefs might begin to look inward, to question their methods, look at their ideologies, and find another way. But no, that is never going to happen.

My boss at the music store can hardly read the news these days. While he is a man deeply concerned about the planet, educating himself on environmental, economic and other important matters of life on earth, whenever such as today's events pop up in conversation, he tells me that his desperation at what is (increasingly) our dark world is "all too much," so - not in any ostrich-like way, but simply to keep sane - he tries to focus on the good and positive of the world, as thinking about the rest is unbearable. 

These are truly terrifying times. And it is all too much. With each successive dreadful event like today's, the world changes for the worse, and it is ominously feeling like there is no going back. I have tried so hard in recent years not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders like I have done so much in the past, but it's getting difficult not to, as that weight is forcing itself upon everyone's shoulders, whether we like it or not.

Here's One for All, to Anyone Listening: R.I.P. Nick Talbot

 

In my former life as a promoter from 2000 to 2006, one of its great joys was meeting so many richly talented and interesting people. In the process of staging shows for them, some became friends. Most, however, were the proverbial ships in the night, lighting up my life briefly on one stop on a tour - artists I would continue to follow, but from whom I never heard a word again unless staging another show somewhere down the line. One such musician was Nick Talbot, recording for the mainly electronica-oriented label, Warp, under the name Gravenhurst.

 

Nick played a show for us on the same bill as a one-off appearance from the reclusive Creation/4AD artist, Heidi Berry, and a third act I cannot recall as I write. It was one of our more delicate, introspective bills, and Nick played a beautiful set of his gorgeous, dark music. After originally stating upon arriving in Brighton that he would prefer to stay in a hotel or B&B, Nick later changed his mind and, like so many musicians before him, lodged with Susan and I. We found him utterly charming, highly intelligent, nerdy and sweet in his beige 'Rupert Bear' duffle coat. He made an impression, and we took to him instantly. However briefly, it was a real pleasure to meet Nick and spend a little time in his company, as both a working musician and a human being.

 

Nick passed away last week, aged just 37. The cause of death has yet to be revealed, and may not be. However Nick's life came to an end, it has had an impact on us. It appears that his career was poised to ramp up just a notch with the reissue of two albums and recent shows in Italy. He was tweeting up until December 1st, seemingly with a degree of anticipation at what lay ahead.  But that his death was so sudden cannot help but sew the seeds of doubt in me that all was well with Nick. I do not wish to read between lines that may not even exist, but it just feels ominous, that perhaps Nick passed by his own hand. When I broke the news to Susan, without any prompting she immediately raised that possibility. There just seemed a fragility in Nick when we met him, a deep-rooted melancholy that coloured his dramatic music. This said, he was also very witty and sharp, with a lovely sense of humour.

 

 

I remain disturbed about Nick's death, just as I do to this day about the impossibly lovely, but deeply troubled Thomas Hansen, a beautiful and eccentric Norwegian songwriter I witnessed experience an onstage meltdown opening for Lambchop. He could barely string a sentence together, and had to have help from a roadie in forming a chord on his guitar, before stopping mid-song, saying, "I'm sorry...I can't do this," then walking off to a bewildered audience. It was heartbreaking to be party to, but what I believe was his first UK show after that was for us in Brighton, whereupon he apologized onstage and then delivered an incredible set of his wonderful music. We became pals very quickly, but then he was gone, aged just 31. I miss him, and I miss his music. 

 

In the truest sense of the word Thomas was not a friend: our worlds collided and overlapped for a brief period, during which there was mutual respect and genuine warmth. Even less could be said of my brief encounter with Nick Talbot, but everyone has people that enter and exit their lives when the course of the meetings are meant to end, and Nick would be one who fleetingly crossed my path, leaving happy memories in his wake.

 

Rest in peace, Nick. Your music meant a lot to a great many, as did you.   

Creatures of the Air and Sea

A mere seven-and-a-bit years ago when, as incredible as it seems today, MySpace was a viable (and avidly followed) blogging option, under the title Supernature I reported in an excitable manner on my early impressions of the wildlife and scenic wonders of my new environment.

 

From that day to this I remain utterly in awe of it all. Hardly a week goes by without my seeing something extraordinary - even if it might be a 'common' sight like hummingbirds, that I see often, or even daily. Yet, I must say, this last few days has been particularly mind-blowing.

 

On Halloween morning I was pottering about getting ready for work. I walked from the office into the kitchen and, without thinking, looked up and saw something that stopped me in my tracks. Sitting on our deck railing, as bold as you like, was a magnificent Red-Tailed Hawk!

 

 

My heart started to race as I reached for the drawer next to the kitchen sink, where Susan keeps her camera. I had never before been so close to a wild raptor, and there it was, sitting there, staring at me. I managed to get the camera out of the case and capture a couple of shots through the dirty screen door before it took off, its wingspan surely as wide as my arms outstretched. The hawk circled the backyard twice, then settled in our neighbour's tree, tantalisingly out of sight. Wow...just wow!

 

The week prior we had found some white and a little beige fur in the path running alongside the left of the house. It seemed, perhaps, to be the aftermath of a cat fight, but we'd not heard anything at night, so could only speculate. Now we cannot help but wonder if this hawk had taken a neighbourhood cat or maybe a rabbit, and was back in the hope of more. A keen birding friend described the Red-Tailed Hawk as an "opportunistic and lazy hunter," so perhaps so? We may never know, but the mystery cannot diminish the incredible thrill of seeing him or her.

 

Just a few weeks ago I was walking home from work when I ran into my friend Russ Morland (who created the tattoos in the previous post) near St. Andrew's Church, and he said, "Dave, look in that tree." I looked up and there, in broad daylight, was a Barn Owl! Russ said the owl had been there all day, watching the world go by. I stood under the tree, no more than 12 or so feet below the owl, and it looked down at me, blinking, then tilting and swivelling its head about to eye up a small dog that was passing by, oblivious. Then I see this hawk in my yard, and am beginning to wonder if there is a subtle, gradual invasion of predatory birdlife underway! Soon we will be under their command!

 

On Monday November 3rd we travelled by ferry to Vancouver to see a show. Around 25 minutes out of Departure Bay a woman sitting behind us suddenly piped up, "Wow, is that a dolphin?" And indeed it was, breaching a few hundred yards away, but clearly visible. Then another appeared, and more and more and MORE! An announcement was made by the ferry Captain that we were encountering a large (approximately 100) pod of Pacific White-sided Dolphins!

 

(Photographer: Holly Fearnbach. Image used without permission, but I'll take it down if she complains.)

It was just INCREDIBLE! Wave after wave of these amazing creatures breached individually and in pairs, zipping through the sea, under the ferry and away across the Georgia Strait. Apart from a great sighting in Australia in 1996, this was the closest I'd ever been to dolphins, so I watched completely transfixed until the pod has passed through. When the spectacle was over Susan and I just looked at each other, shaking our heads in disbelief. We'd seen Orcas at distance the last twice we visited Mayne Island, but this was in a different league altogether. Truly awe-inspiring; a sight that will live with me forever.

When we'd arrived home from Vancouver the following day, I received a text message from our friend James, as he in turn returned to Vancouver Island from the city. "Just sailed past a pod of humpbacks!" it said. That was his reward for missing the ferry we were all meant to catch together! Ah well, he didn't see the dolphins on the way over, so it all balances out.

It's hard to get my head around the natural wonders of this area sometimes. But it's all there, and available to me every day. I am so, so lucky, a fact that will never be lost on me.

"Supernature"? Good heavens, yes!  

 

  

Ink

 

So, I got my tattoos! On October 14 I headed excitedly down to Russ 'Lurk' Morland's Electric Umbrella and got myself inked up good 'n' proper! "Did it hurt?" people have asked, but in truth it was fine. A little sting now and again, but by and large it honestly was a breeze. In fact, I've come out of the experience feeling strangely empowered, and now cannot believe it took me so long to get this done. Perhaps it's simply a case of the time being right?

 

Having not once before considered getting a tattoo, I am still unsure where, at the age of 53,  the strong desire to get some tattoos came from. I think it might lie with the fact I feel pretty good about myself right now, and am being guided by an unseen hand to express myself in previously unconsidered ways. What I can identify, however, is exactly when this all started.

 

After spending Canada Day with friends at a community event in Vancouver's Crab Park, Susan and I were heading home on the Coastal Renaissance ferry. It was a gorgeous day, offering spectacular views of Mt. Baker and the Vancouver skyline as we slid out of Horseshoe Bay. As we gazed at the views we pontificated on how lucky we are to live where we do, to have such scenery and natural wonders available to us at every turn, and it just felt pretty wonderful to be alive, to be together, and to be living the life we live. As we headed out to sea and the breeze picked up, I moved to as near to the bow as I could get, while Susan moved inside to read. I stood looking around at the mountains, as happy as I can ever remember being. I was soon lost in thought, with all manner of ideas, memories and images tumbling around my brain.

 

Back in Crab Park, our friend Bobbi Sue had a few government issued maple leaf tattoos, so I pinched one and pasted it onto the side of my right leg. I'm not entirely certain why I put it there in particular, but it may be because I love lacrosse, a sport in which some of the participants traditionally get tattoos on their calves. On the ferry I noticed the tattoo again, and thought it was cool. I'm a proud Canadian citizen of three years standing now, inexplicably feeling a stronger emotional bond with Canada than I ever had with the UK. It's odd, but that's how I feel, and I cannot articulate why to either Canadians or Brits.

 

As I mulled over nothing in particular, the thought of getting a real tattoo amusingly drifted into my mind, but it was not the maple leaf I was intent on. When we were pulling into Nanaimo, the decision categorically made that I wanted tattoos, I told Susan, genuinely unsure how she would react, but nonetheless determined to follow this through. It was not a whim, but a decision I already viewed as made with serious intent. To my utter delight, Susan thought it was a great idea, immediately stating that the tattoos would be "something that meant a lot to (you), right...like that maple leaf on (your) leg?" God, yes, she was absolutely right! I had to get a maple leaf as well, and to boot exactly where the temporary one was located!

 

So, no, the leaf was not my initial thought; the word 'today' simply would not leave my mind. With three bouts of cancer and a whole other raft of health issues the last fifteen or so years, coupled with the fact that I met the love of my life late on, means that I am determined to wring every drop out of every day. However mundane a day may be, Susan and I are resolved to getting as much fun and joy out of it as we can. Having met so deep into our lives, and been through so much since, we recognize life as precious and very short, so we'll do all we can to make it count before our respective times are up. It's very much a "carpe diem" attitude and philosophy we try to live by.  Hence, 'today,' and that's the word I decided I wanted tattooed on my arm!

 

 

There it is above! I just LOVE it! With the exclamation mark it's an emphatic statement of intent, a single word dictum by which I intend to see out my days. You can do nothing about the past and little about tomorrow, but today you can run with.

 

I chose the font and Russ skilfully executed it after the creation of a stencil to lay across my right inner forearm. People that have seen it thus far totally understand what it's all about, without any need for an explanation from me. "Yes!" they say. "Right on!"

 

Since I was a teenager The Clash has always been a huge band in my life. For musical, cultural and political reasons, Joe Strummer - who was taken from us at the tragically young age of 50 - has been a massively influential presence in my thinking. In truth, the older I get the more he means to me. I've recently picked up his three brilliant albums with the Mescaleros on CD for the first time, immersing myself in everything they are. On the album "Rock Art and the X-Ray Style" (please listen to it; it's incredible) the song "X-Ray Style" bears (and closes with) the lyric, I wanna live, and I wanna dance awhile. After deciding I must get tattoos I found myself unable to stop thinking about that line, seeing how it so perfectly encapsulates how I wish to approach however long I may have left. 'Dance' is, of course, both a metaphor and literal, but along with 'Today!' I needed to bear this legend on my body. So, it was decided: my three tattoos would be the maple leaf, 'Today!' and that beautiful Strummer lyric.

 

 

Joe Strummer unfailingly typed out his lyrics, so it went without question that a typewriter font is exactly how his work should appear on my left arm. (Why the left? It's the same side as my heart.) As a massive Strummer fan himself (and of great music generally, such as The Mountain Goats and Bright Eyes), Russ took great care in creating this seemingly simple tattoo for me, redoing the stencil twice before applying it, so it looked exactly right. I am delighted with the result.

 

That's that, then. A new me, adorned with and resplendent in ink! There will be people out there who will scoff, thinking I've lost my marbles or am doing all I can to desperately cling onto my youth. Bollocks to them, I say, as at my age it's plain my youth is long, long gone! I kinda know that, right? This is simply a period of reinvention, a time in my life where I am bursting with unexpected energy and ideas. I have no idea what might be next for me (and us) on my (and our) life adventure but, for better or worse, whatever it is I'll follow it to its logical conclusion. More tattoos? Who knows. Bungee jumping or a freefall parachute jump? Yeah, maybe! Slippers and a pipe? No fucking way! It might be that there is nothing whatsoever of note awaiting me, but that's just fine too, but it's a certainty that even then I'll still be living and dancing awhile.