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Hey, that hiatus was a little longer than I had expected, but . . . . but . . . 

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LOOK AT THOSE FONTS! On the HEADER! LOOK!

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No, don’t mind that guy in the picture. I’m talking about the fonts!

Anyway, my new blog host and refinements will let me do a lot more than the old. We’re talking technology that’s for all intents and purposes positively jet age here. I’m talking links, galleries, widgets and pop-ups. Subscribe! Do subscribe. Please do.

And it’s all thanks to my staff of engineers, designers, and developers here at HQ.

Anyway, you want to hear about the guy?

His name is Larry. I had seen him several times over the years at the Rhythm Room in downtown Phoenix, a favorite local blues venue. He’s kind-of a fixture there. He’s always wearing that hat and a suit-coat. He’s usually dancing on the floor by himself in very . . . shall we say . . . extroverted way.

On Friday I was at the Rhythm Room supporting my friend and client-in-a-way Walkin’ Cane Mark. Larry was there. As he grabbed a piece of birthday cake from the bar (it was a party celebrating the birthday of local blues legend Bill Tarsha), I took a minute to talk to Larry — finally after all these years.

“So what keeps you coming back here?” I asked under the lights of the patio as traffic whizzed by on Indian School Road.
“I had a band sixty years ago!” he caterwauled in a way redolent of the old West while shaking his head, taking another bite of cake.

I asked him a few more questions, but honestly that’s about all I got out of it. Larry’s an interesting guy, I’m sure. Wish I understood him better. After a minute or two of trying to capture something from the stream of syllables and cake, I said “Thanks! Keep up the dancing!” and took my leave.

Later, as Mark and I were returning to the car after his set, Larry and a few others were hanging around in the parking lot. Larry was hitting up various people for a loan, including Mark–who knew better. While Larry was distracted with commercial activities, a younger woman playfully took a joyride on the chopper-style bicycle he uses to get around.

“NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME WOMAN! THAT BICYCLE’S GOT THREE SPEEDS! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO LEARN TO SHIFT THAT BICYCLE, GODDAMIT!” he exclaimed while cavorting.

“Fuck you, Larry!” she said as she rounded a corner, her knees bouncing above the pedals at a prodigious rate.

It was just another night in central Phoenix.

It’s good to be back.

Hey . . . look at those fonts.