Crabmeat is Brain Food

  That’s right, friends and neighbors! This week I’ll be performing WEDNESDAY and SATURDAY nights. 

  WEDNESDAY, at 7, I’m interviewing and singing on “Cecil Jamboree," hosted by my good pal, Boxturtle Bob Chirnside. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaNuAOg79Ow is CECIL TV. It’s on SKYPE. 

  SATURDAY at 7, I’ll wait my turn on another Philadelphia Area Songwriters’ Association house concert. It’s on ZOOM: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/86016317708?pwd=OFQxaU8vS2xqMHFPZzhERnVVYWY5Zz09 
Meeting ID: 860 1631 7708…

One night Richie Smith showed up at the Top Hat to see us and to celebrate his birthday. Richie, who plays killer bluegrass guitar on an old Martin D-18, had 

jammed with me back in Tahoe, and we’d been a duo—“Hobo Fishcamp”—for a couple of months until Richie joined the Choir. When Barkley debarked, Richie did too, to form his own Reggae band. 

On his birthday at the Top Hat, I dedicated “our song” to Richie. He and Mescalito had pretty much written it, back in Tahoe: I was just the scribe who wrote it…

In 1981 the Philadelphia Eagles were headed into the playoffs. Those Eagles (pronounced “Iggles” in Philly) relied on the arm of Ron “the Polish Rifle” Jaworski, and the sturdy thighs of Wilbert Montgomery. They wore Kelly green uniforms, not the trendy “midnight green,” designed by their present owner’s first wife, a skinny woman with New York hair. One sportswriter likened “midnight green” to “ocean purple.” 

We watched the game on my black and white teevee, which we’d taken out to the front porch to get…

"What was the strangest gig you ever played?” Boxturlte Bob asked me, on his Cecil TV show. I was tossed. One of the gay bars I played in San Francisco had nothing but opera on the juke box. Scenes from Wagner were painted on the walls. A pool table hung from the ceiling, and you had to climb a ladder to play. 

Bonny, an opera singer, lived nearby on Noe street. She’d wobble down the hill in her stilettos, drape her mink over a barstool, and join in on a couple of songs. I can remember her perfect diction…

The sun bounced back today, driving last week’s storms to New Jersey. The thermometer SKYROCKETED up near 50! I bundled myself, hung a scarf around my neck, put on my gloves and threw my bike in the back of “Bob,” my tan minivan, for a ride at Lum’s Pond. 

Stopping on the way to pump up my front tire, in the process I washed off the driver’s-side wing mirror and the little circular blind-spot mirror, which were both distorted by the schnog I’ve spat at speeds too low to sweep it into my slipstream…

Just back from sunny SW Fla, where I was lucky to stay with old friend Michael and play a house concert with pal Alan Wasserman and his lovely mix of Beethoven and Crabwhimsy--and already I'm booked at Bethany Nature center in August, place an order for more of my coloring books (they're goin' fast!) 
AND I just got a check for ROYALTIES! Now I can buy some stamps. 

B. I have pared my NY Resolutions down to 2 very important items. In view of our upcoming World War, complete with NFL commercials to support…

8-11 PM THIS SATURDAY, AUGUST 3rd, Charles Griffin will join me (the Crab) at the lovely and historical MARKET STREET CAFÉ in Charlestown, Maryland on the infamous Eastern Shore. Charles will play the (sea) Bass & guitar, and we’ll be accepting “rescue” zucchini. Market Street Caféhttps://www.marketstreetcafemd.com/ is easy to find—just south of Red Toad Road (no shit, I didn’t make that up). 
After that, only 5 days until the Iggles open pre-season against Tennessee, and we get a first look at the rookies…

On Memorial Day, Teri Gross interviewed a father whose son was killed recently in Afghanistan. He spoke fondly of how his son had always cared for others; and then he said that he had dreamed about his son just before he died. In the dream, his son was dressed in his army uniform, speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear the words. Then, in the dream, his son became a child again and climbed into a glass coffin. Climbing out of the coffin, he became the soldier again, saluted his father, and then the phone…

Sometime in the mists of the Ancient Eighties, I got a call from Roxanne Nelson, wife of my line coach and friend Lenny "Earthquake" Nelson. She'd acquired a small grant and wanted to PAY me (!) to write a song with her Kindergarten, for their study of the environment. Thus began my involvement with Delaware's wetlands and protection of same. We do have a treasure here, as you'll realize if you drive south on Rt. 9 for a while. It's still undeveloped tidelands, teeming with birds and other critters.

Just wrote a song called Chokoloskee, with the line: 

Delaware’s okay by me/In the springtime and the fall 

But new years to St Patricks/You can freeze yer fuckin’ balls 

Do you think”fuckin’” is too crude? Should it be “fucking?” Or “feckin’, “ which is perfectly ok in Ireland. 

In Chokoloskee: We lived next door to Annie/ Peter and their little dog 

lizards watched you when you showered/ and the neighbor hunted frogs. 

he picked his wife up in Siberia/Annie helped him to prepare 

had to drive haflway to…