Fairfax, VA, USA. Sharon and I are married. Not in the eyes of the Commonwealth of Virginia, not in the eyes of the Government of the United States, and certainly not in the eyes of the Internal Revenue Service or various religious sects.

If some god is above us, some divine creator without which none of this would be, I am certain he would bless us. Would a god deny our love just so he or she could angrily exercise some godly reasoned distinction originally intended to encourage the human pair bond and discourage the male of the species from raping the female every time some passing male desired sex?

In any event, no god has smote us over the years we have been pair bonded. Perhaps we get a free ride because of the eight children we have between us. Perhaps the prohibitions are man’s and not god’s.

It matters not. Sharon and I are married, pair bonded, ‘til death do us part and all that.

Fairfax, VA, USA. We Americans, you and I, spring from some Platonic conception of ourselves, forever remodeling our past even as we reconceive our multiple futures. The possibility of success, tempered by the memories our well accomplished failures, bedevils us until our dying days.

We worship a dual headed bitch goddess, pursuing fame, thinking it is success. [N1] In this, the early decades of a new millennium, we confuse our good intentions with actual accomplishment as if the act of aiming at a target is sufficient. [N2] We no longer actually have to hit the target to become famous. Being famous is enough, a well laurelled goal, in and of itself.

Success? Everyone wants success but no one admits to wanting it. If we achieve success, we are half apologetic that we climbed our own personal Mount Everest. The ideal American archetype is a Tin Star who, having just rid the world of the bad guys, responds to praise from the townspeople by casting his eyes down and mumbling semi-audibly Aw shucks, I was just doing my job.

Fairfax, VA, USA. Howdy-Doody, Crusader Rabbit, Kukla, Fran and Ollie, and Ding Dong School with Miss Frances: my roots begin here.

I am older than Rock and Roll but not as old as Dick Clark.

The Woody Woodpecker Song was at the top of the charts the day I was born. Little Richard was not yet 16, Elvis was 13, Jerry Lee Lewis only 12.

It would be four years until Bill Haley and His Comets would be formed, six until Rock Around The Clock would begin climbing the charts.

I am not as old as Little League Baseball but am still older than many of the nations on this planet and yet, I am little more than half way through all the things I intend to do with my life. The future lies wide open before me.

But it all starts in the past. I’m a child of the bastard marriage of coast to coast network television and the devil’s music - rock and roll. I would not be who I am without them.