Bugsy's Diet

Eat When Hungry.

When you are Hungry, 

and cannot Eat,

do nothing.

you will lose weight.

Dreaming of Andrew Hill: Part 1

It all started in the garage.

When his fingers, so tortured by his condition,  could no longer tickle the ivories. When his fingers became tentacles of tragedy.  

So the music needed to go; he couldn't play it, and he couldn't listen to it.  And the records held the music, and the music held reminders of his fingers.  And then the music arrived in my garage.

What the hell am I supposed to do with 500 vinyl discs, at a time when all I was interested in was riding the teenage edge of angst?  Give 'em mostly away, I thought, and spare the mother fuckers the torture of raw cement, and the damp, ever-changing conditions of a New England garage.  

But, not all of them.  Spare a few.  Keep the ones that might have potential.  And so it was; if it looked like jazz, smelled like jazz, and (though I had no ideas, really, what the fuck it sounded like) , if I thought it *might* sound like jazz, it stayed.  The rest?  Goes.