The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

*Note: People have said for years I should write a book. In reality, I'm too lazy and not interested in disturbing the sleeping demons. In the meantime, I'll occasionally post blurbs like this. - MM  I like writing/playing/listening to instrumental music. Lyrics often, to me, get in the way of the song itself. In writing an instrumental, the toughest choice is what to call the piece of music. I rarely think about it until it's finished. Then, I consciously try to keep from sounding pathetically self-important. Music should be fun. The trick is to write and play with emotion without bogging down the listener with your bullshit. I recorded an instrumental piece on my BFTD album. Up until we were getting to release it, the song had no title other that "Jazzy Thing in D". That's how we discussed it in the band. 'Hey, let's do that jazzy thing in D again'  It was eventually released as "The Incredibly Swingy Jazzy Thing in D" simply because I ...

 To hear my friends tell it, they're all going to hell. As they all keep leaving me behind, I get the feeling the joint's gonna be full before I get there. Now before anyone throws in their two cents worth on the subject of death, dying and the afterlife, you can just stop. Having once been declared dead, I have a bit of unique perspective and a minor level of expertise. Many have asked me "What happens?" Simply put, I don't have the words to describe it, but I can tell you, it ain't the crap you see on TV or read about in your favorite periodical. I buried my dad earlier this week. I feel like I'm failing at grief at this point. He was just shy of 88 years old. He'd lived a long life, and more importantly I guess, he lived it the way he wanted to. I think I should feel sadder than I do. We were never as close as I would have liked, but he was still my dad. If you think you're going to read horror stories about a shitty childhood, sorry, not happ...