I am listening to the background music in an advertisement playing on the television set behind me: I Feel Free from the Fresh Cream album. There was a time when this would have been impossible. Now, except perhaps for Neil Young, because he boxed himself in by writing a song about it, everybody is licensing their music for a dot com or Ford automobile advertisement. The Who and whomever else. Silly thought, of course, all these many years later, that this would never happen. There were times when the idea existed that it was us versus them and now, thirty years later, them is moi. Over these years them have gotten old and died and us have gotten old and gone on to get rich playing the stock market so fuck these kids and their WTO fantasies. Worst case we give them a piece of the action. I Feel Free. Yes indeed. Free as the breeze. Free as the air on a sunny day in the summmer of '66, free as the clouds churned butter and gold above a local petroleum plant.

Life in the fast lane here in the Oak City. Little and less accomplished this weekend, but I'm rested and ready for tomorrow and whatever comes before boarding the train to Seattle. I called the vet Saturday and made an appointment to board Wuss. See how he handles his diet in captivity. Or will they notice?