“But one thing you can be sure of

You know that I’m a believer”

Giant was a band out of time. AOR was on its last legs, we just didn’t know it yet. Giant was perfect for the fifteen years before, but was now out of step with America’s changing tastes. After a decade of MTV pop now ruled, And hip-hop was growing. Sure, we were on the last legs of hair band ballads, and Guns N’ Roses was something different, something dangerous, yet Giant was more akin to a seventies act, just great players playing straight ahead rock. That sound is still dead, but there were years where it was the biggest in the land.

I don’t do much mindless surfing these days. I remember telling my shrink twenty-odd years ago that I’d seen it all, I was on repeats. Then I went into my tab cycle, it would take me about an hour to go through all of mine on Safari, and by time I got back to the beginning, hopefully there’d be new news. But then there wasn’t, and then the news exploded, sometime in the late aughts, and then we got to the point where there was no way anybody could get a grasp on what was going on, you could surf new stuff endlessly. End result was the loss of truth, and in many cases credibility, and it’s been overwhelming. And sometime in the last ten years surfing was eclipsed by apps.

I must say I never got into the Facebook thing. I’d already heard from most everybody I ever knew, and the people I went to high school with, there was a reason I left my hometown. But recently, years late, I find myself on Instagram, turns out you’ve got to surf or you lose your name, which happened and having reclaimed it I don’t want to lose it again. And Reddit is an endless rabbit hole. But the funny thing is all these outlets have a window, it opens and you’re fascinated, you spend time and then the novelty wears off, and suddenly you’ve got little interest in going back. Doesn’t matter how much the platforms shuffle the deck, you’re done. Other than Twitter, which most people never pay attention to, it’s for information junkies, it’s more up to date than any news site, as a matter of fact all the reporters are on Twitter, but it turns out most people are more concerned with their image, becoming influencers, than the news.

But every once in a while, when I’m really relaxed, I find myself surfing once again.

I was listening to music on my iPad via headphones, the big ones, not the portable ones, and when I get the urge certain go-to songs come to mind, and about two weeks ago, it was “I’m a Believer.”

For a long time “I’m a Believer” was unavailable online. Took a long time for a lot of non-hit music to resurface. But I had a CD anyway. Which for a long time sat in my car, I’d like to fire it up when I was driving, especially on the freeway, when I could put the pedal to the metal.

And I’m listening to “I’m a Believer” and I’m wondering if there’s a live version.

Giant broke up long ago. There’s still a band with that name, playing some of the old music, but the key members have long gone. The most key being the lead guitarist and vocalist Dann Huff, who reinvented himself as a hit country music producer, one of the best, to some degree unchallenged until Dave Cobb emerged with his earthier sound.

And I’m on YouTube and I find a Giant reunion, it’s already five years old, and it’s in a club, so my expectations are low.

And Dann Huff has got that latter day Eric Clapton look, you know, cleaned-up with short hair, as if when he’s done he’s got to pick up the kids at school. He’s smiling like he’s embarrassed, like he never does this anymore. He resembles nothing so much as one of those players at your high school reunion. Have you been to one of those, where all the boomer players come out of the woodwork and get together and play, dividing the reunion in half, the players going down the rabbit hole together? I have, not my own, but Felice’s.

And then Dann starts to play.

I expect the sound to be lousy, it almost always is on these YouTube live clips. And sure, it’s not perfect, but Dann certainly is. I mean I’m bugging out, staring, it sounds like the record, are they playing the record or is it really him?

It’s him.

And then some guy in torn jeans and a vest takes the stage and…who is this? He’s the singer, why is it not Dann?

Well, doing research I found somewhere on Facebook that Dann didn’t want to. But this guy, who looks jive, opens his pipes, and wow, he’s like Arnel in Journey, he doesn’t look like Dann but he certainly sounds like him, maybe even better.

And now the band is firing on all cylinders and…

You forget that the sound used to be imperfect. Back before all the acts went to hard drive, never mind being synched with untold production. It sounded like the original, but different. The studio take was always slick, the edges were sanded off, but live the music breathed, the edges were back. And that’s what made it so immediate and relatable. That’s something that’s been lost, along with the humanity.

I don’t think non-boomers get this. Maybe Gen-X’ers understand. We formed bands, we went to hear bands. A great band built a rep, you had to hear them. Even the local ones, never mind those that played the Fillmore, which you knew about from being immersed in the culture, FM radio, the rock press, you had your ear to the ground, it was a whole culture which is now dead.

Now there are some that say bands like Giant killed it. There are those who believe music died in the sixties. And then there are those who believe punk rules, if it gets too complicated it gets too self-conscious and loses the essence. And then Nirvana came along and wiped this music off the map anyway. But it survives on classic rock, and yacht rock channels. But Giant doesn’t really fit in either category. Oh, they’ve got a ballad, but they were never classic, most people have never heard of them, but there was some airplay on the dying AOR.

And last night I went down the rabbit hole once again. I watched this 2017  reunion video and got the same feeling, I wondered if there were any live videos from the band’s “heyday.” Turned out there were. I started watching one from London, in 1990. I never knew the band went overseas, but in truth their manager, Bud Prager, was always a big picture guy. With these big picture bands, like Foreigner, although his paradigm was already long in the tooth.

And the video, after some labeling that’s depressing, the images are shiny and bright in a way that Giant was not, you see a throng of cheering rock fans. Which doesn’t square with the rest of the footage, maybe that scene was staged, because when the music starts the audience is quiet, but still on its feet. This is definitely a rock audience, no other one compares. These are not casual fans, they need the music. How they look is secondary to how they feel. They go to the show to be transported, to bond with the band, to be taken to another level.

And here’s Dann Huff once again. Playing the instrumental into to “I’m a Believer” impeccably. But now his hair is long, it had to be to be accepted in the scene, even though by this time it was an affectation. But boy is he wailing. And you’re brought back to the era when being an ace guitar player was key. Maybe Slash was the last one.

And this is a live track, but it’s so perfect you’re wondering if this is a typical video, you know with the studio version providing the audio. But then Dann steps up to the mic to sing and you’re reassured that this is truly live. And you’re brought right back, there’s an energy without the dross that’s been laid on in decades since, without the fakery, the imagery, it’s just the music.

And I can’t believe how great a guitarist Dann Huff is. I go to his Wikipedia page, even though I’ve been there a zillion times before. And they’ve got a list of some of his studio gigs. Yes, he was a hired gun. Before he tried to break out on his own with his own band, before he went back to being a player, before he worked behind the board.

I mean that was the rap, that Huff was a studio guitarist, that was part of the hype. But Dann didn’t have the fame some of the others did, maybe because he played on so many pop records, maybe because the world had changed and people were less interested in the musicians than the package. But one thing is for sure, Dann could wail effortlessly. Watching it’s hard to believe, how did he ever get this good, he’s an elite player, member of a small group.

And I’m watching this 2017 reunion show and I’m shattered. I can’t believe it. This is the magic, this is the sound, this is the essence, and it’s from an era when most people thought the dream was over, furthermore it’s being recreated effortlessly long after its time. And it’s just as powerful. And the audience understands what is on stage. And it matters not a whit that no one else is aware. It’s not about shooting selfies, it’s about bathing in the glorious sound, transcending your earthly problems for as long as the amplifiers are turned on and this mellifluous sound emerges.

Studio version: https://spoti.fi/3sJMQvM or https://bit.ly/3MpkXRt

7/1/2017 live version: https://bit.ly/3vOy0Gl

1990 live in London version: https://bit.ly/35TuPls

Dann Huff Wikipedia page: https://bit.ly/35xx1iM

He died.

We were the first TV generation. This was before they called it the “boob tube.” Its novelty had started to wear off, but our parents still remembered getting together for Sid Caesar and “The Honeymooners.” TV was a breakthrough, just like the internet. And you’d watch anything, just for the experience, just like you surfed mindlessly in the early days of AOL and the World Wide Web.

I can’t remember the first TV show I watched. I think it was “Winky Dink.” You put a plastic screen in front of the TV and drew along. And then there was “Tom Terrific.” And “The Mickey Mouse Club.”

I don’t remember a time when “The Mickey Mouse Club” was not on the air. It was a ritual, watching it every night while we ate dinner, at least we three kids. Sitting at our table in the lower floor of our split-level, the “playroom.” One wonders where that table went. It hung around for quite a while, it became a utility table thereafter, a place to store goods, it wasn’t even three feet square. It had black and white-checked linoleum on top. And four miniature chairs that disappeared quickly. It’s my Rosebud, but not really. I have essentially nothing from that period. My mother could throw anything out. Like the day’s newspaper. Sleep in? It’s too late, it’s ten a.m., the papers are GONE!

And what I remember eating most was buttered noodles. Much better than with tomato sauce. And we never ever drank milk, unless it was chocolate. My father owned a liquor store, we had a flowing pipeline of soft drinks.

So we’re sitting there eating and there were the Mouseketeers.

We were too young to know that Annette was a dream. She was a teenager, we looked up to all teenagers, never mind the ones on “The Mickey Mouse Club.” They were tall, and had a level of freedom. And it wasn’t only Annette. There was Cubby and Tommy and Darlene.

And there was “Spin and Marty.” It was a serial within the show. Set on a ranch. In black and white, nothing was in color. And Tim Considine was Spin.

“Spin and Marty,” no one ever talks about it anymore, but they did all the way up until the early seventies. I remember at a summer program in Chicago I was called “Moochie.” Maybe the most famous actor on “Spin and Marty.” But even he’s dead now, he passed in 2015.

And then came “My Three Sons.” It started in 1960. A new decade, which we were excited about, it was all about new back then. Shiny, pushing the envelope, possibility.

I had no idea Fred MacMurray had starred in “Double Indemnity.” He was just the guy from the Disney movies, all of which we saw. The two best, which Fred starred in, were “The Absent Minded-Professor” and “The Shaggy Dog.” Going to the theatre and watching them in pristine black and white, what an experience. MacMurray was a comic actor. But really he wasn’t.

So “My Three Sons.” Of course my favorite was Chip, he was closest to my age. I only wished I could be beamed into the TV, for I had no brothers, never mind two! 

Robbie was the in the middle, played by Don Grady, whom I met a little over a decade ago. I went to see the Refugees at the Getty, and he came up and introduced himself. ROBBIE! He was a reader. At first I was speechless, he was a god in my book. But here he was, older, much shorter than I’d thought, talking to me! Turns out he was a composer.

The oldest was Mike. Played by Tim Considine.

But five years later, when the show jumped networks, he was gone. He’d gotten married, he’d started his real life, at least on television. He was replaced by Barry Livingston as Ernie, Chip’s younger brother in real life. Who I never accepted. He was young and goofy. None of the three sons had ever acted so. Sure, they screwed up. But they projected an air of maturity.

You have no idea how much kids wanted to be on TV back then. There was no internet, essentially no way to break out of your hometown, you had to move to Hollywood, where they not only made the movies and TV shows, but the music too. California was aspirational. Instead of the right wing punching bag it is today. It was three hours behind. Long distance phone calls were expensive. It might as well have been a different planet.

But it was beamed into our homes almost all day long. Programming filled the air between the test pattern. Haven’t seen that recently. In the eighties, with the growth of cable TV, there started to be 24/7 programming, and that was a boon for a night owl like me. If you needed a friend in the middle of the night, you could find one. An old movie. Or the infomercials. They were everywhere, and you knew them all…Didi 7, did it really clean that well? I knew to be wary of products hawked on TV, there was usually a scam involved, I mean how could they offer two for the price of one if you called right now, but I always wondered.

But we had plenty of TV back in the fifties and sixties, at least in the New York market. Three networks and three independents. And I thought CBS was on channel 2 everywhere, just like NBC was on 4 and ABC was on 7. Turned out this was true in Los Angeles, but in the rest of the country the networks could be at any number from 2-13, which I still don’t get. Then again, it’s not about networks anymore. It’s not even about cable, but on demand streaming. Actually, there’s a good chance you’re paying more for a little less, how did that happen?

So Beaver came back. Some of the legendary fifties and sixties actors. Hell, even Sid Caesar came back in a Mel Brooks movie. But mostly they live in our minds. And before the internet you had no idea what they were up to, they were just royalty, living in Hollywood somewhere. At least until they started ripping-off 7/11’s and having their mug shots in the news.

So Tim Considine was 81. Is that old or young, I no longer know. 81 was ancient when “My Three Sons” was on the air. 70 was old. But now your seventies are seen as an active decade. And you slow down in your eighties, but if your health is good you’re quite alive, you get around.

But reading the obituary I learned that nothing really happened for Tim Considine in show business after “My Three Sons.” He ultimately became a photographer, of cars and sports. He pivoted. He survived. Ironically in Mar Vista, only a hop from where I used to live.

And Tim’s death has me thinking, how life is long. Seemed short and immediate when I was watching him on TV, you had to do it now or forever lose your chance. And we know now that fame wasn’t everything we thought it was. Sure, kids knew you all over the country, the world. But you didn’t go to regular school. Your parents banked and possibly stole your money, which wasn’t huge to begin with. You had to have a second act.

That’s hard for boomers to square. At the end of our parents’ work lives we learned employment wasn’t for life. And today’s kids know that jobs are temporary and they’ll have a zillion. But us? We kind of still believed in the company, even though we ultimately got canned, and too many never recovered, if for no other reason than age makes you a pariah, companies don’t want to pay the health insurance.

So you’ve got to start all over, alone. Be an entrepreneur. But no one ever taught us these lessons. Certainly not in college. You took a job, you didn’t make one. And being an entrepreneur involved risks. Which our parents never wanted us to experience. Get a degree from a good college, plug yourself into the system and hang on. Or if you really wanted to go all out, become a professional, a doctor or a lawyer, accountants weren’t in the same league. And none of them were upper class, you could make good money as a surgeon, but you couldn’t afford to live in a 10,000 square foot house.

So many baby boomers are lost. They don’t know what to do with themselves. They may even have enough money to survive, but how to fill up the time? And volunteering just doesn’t fill you up, have the same gravitas, as getting paid.

So actually, Don Grady, who passed back in 2012, and Tim Considine won. Unlike one hit wonder musicians, they didn’t trade on their one success for the rest of their lives. They could leave the spotlight behind and continue. Maybe they were forced to, who knows. It’s hard to stay in the action in Hollywood, and like I said, pay was nowhere near what it is today, even in adjusted dollars.

But Mike can’t be dead. I mean Fred MacMurray, sure. But the three sons…they were always young and cool. Like an old girlfriend they’re fixed in our brains. And when we run into them years later, we’re shocked they still don’t look the same.

Tim Considine was Mike, but his hair had lost its color, he wore glasses, he looked like the guy you saw at the supermarket, or maybe down on the docks, looked fine, but older, which he most certainly was.

And if Tim got old, if even he couldn’t hold back the sands of time, that means…

I got old. You too. Time is running out. What do we want to do with it? Because if Robbie and Mike can die, ANYBODY CAN!

“Tim Considine, Young Star of ‘My Three Sons,’ Is Dead at 81”: https://nyti.ms/3CgPxYI

It’s my father’s birthday. It would have been his 100th, but he passed away thirty years ago, at 70, just after his birthday, in fact. I spoke with him on the phone the night he died, he was scared. I remember. He didn’t want to go, it was too soon. But he was prepared. No, let me change that, he was warned. He had multiple myeloma. A death sentence at the time. They said three years, turned out it was four.

Back then you doctor-shopped for cancer treatment. At least for multiple myeloma. My hematologist now says you can get good treatment everywhere, at least in the metropolis, because multiple myeloma is a hot area, it’s where all the breakthroughs are, they just approved a drug from China this week, but too late for my dad.

Then again, you should still get a second opinion. And if you don’t live in a major metropolis, you should go to one for a consultation. There are specialists in the city who see these illnesses all day long, whereas in the hinterlands you get generalists, who see your condition much less frequently, and are not up on the latest breakthroughs. My dad ended up going to this physician in Arizona, Dr. Salmon. He said half the chemotherapy was just as good, which turned out to be true. It was hard to tolerate to begin with, just imagine if my father had to take double the dose.

You’ll get cancer. Everybody does. At least if you live long enough. That’s what Mitch, my internist, says. That all his aged patients have had at least one bout of cancer. You think you’re gonna live forever, you’re not. And you probably don’t realize it. But one day you will. Maybe you’ll try to fight it, with plastic surgery, quack treatments, but no one here gets out alive.

And speaking of quack treatments… If you get cancer you’ll hear about them, from friends telling you western medicine is screwed-up and if you just ate the right thing, went to their unaccredited shaman, you’d live. You won’t.

Why the government gets a bad name here I don’t know. And Big Pharma too. Big Pharma is flawed, but you want their medications when you’re bitten by a bug. And the government is looking out for your health. At least the FDA, the CDC has been politicized, it used to be run by lifers, now it’s run by a political appointee, and politics enters the equation. We want someone like Fauci, who is not beholden to the ballot box, but somehow he’s the enemy now too. I mean life must be tough if you can’t trust anybody other than nitwits who spew falsehoods that align with your beliefs. We need some trust in our society in order for it to function, big time.

Not that I planned to write all this medical stuff when I started typing. But I’m gonna die, and it’s now sooner rather than later. It’s weird. Not frightening, but hard to accept. I look in the mirror and I’m old, but inside I’m still young. But I do notice no matter how much I exercise I can’t build the muscle mass of yore. But there’s so much I want to do. But my generation’s time is waning. At this point, the boomers my age are either running the outfit or retiring. It’s very strange. Everybody’s talking about laying down their sword and living a life of leisure. Seems positively scary to me. What are you gonna do all day? I got enough of streaming TV during lockdown, let me out!

But you reach a certain age and you realize it’s just a game, it’s all meaningless. But those younger just cannot understand. That’s the funny thing about life, you can tell people about it all day long, but in truth they have to experience it for themselves.

But some wisdom is important. If you’ve got a pile driver parent, that’s probably good. When I came home from high school the first quarter with a bad report card my father went positively insane. And that he knew how to do. That was one of his skills, going absolutely crazy.

He’d lose control. The older you got, the more you got scared. You’d be standing there, enduring verbal punishment, but you were more worried this guy was gonna start destroying the environment, wreaking havoc.

But in truth education is everything. You’re eager to start, people drop out to do their heart’s desire, but as you age you realize that head start was just a drop in the bucket. Four years? In the blink of an eye.

So my father supported my passions, but education was always number one.

And he was a strange guy. Very internalized. My older sister went to social work school and started to unpack the family’s issues and at first my mother was open to it, but then she shut down, didn’t want to hear it, barked back that yeah, everything was her fault, right…facetiously.

And it’s funny, because my mother was the verbal one, the life of the party, the straw that stirred the drink, but her death is liberating in a way the passing of my dad was not.

Well, maybe too much time has gone by and I don’t remember. I do remember my dad always being there for me when I was truly low, whereas my mother’d kick me. And then she’d be pissed that I wouldn’t share my feelings. So you can put me down?

It was hard to even have a conversation with my father. You could listen to him, giving you the Morris Lefsetz Philosophy, but as far as telling your story and interacting, never really could happen. But he had a bit of a sixth sense. He was the one who took me back to the big box store to return that record. Hell, when you’re young and you mix in some OCD a defective record could mean a lot to you, throw you off course. My mother wouldn’t quite laugh, she’d just say it wasn’t a big deal. So I stopped sharing. And then she was mad I did.

My father was a self-made man. He came from nothing. And was very proud he established what he did. He never ever invested in the stock market, he didn’t trust it. Real estate was his game. Not that he had enough money to play it at a high level, but…

Those were different times. Everybody was middle class. No one was rich, not like they are today. Sure, there were people poorer and wealthier but you could reach out and touch them, you could enter their sphere, end up in their world, whereas today it’s an impossibility.

And when you’re a strange guy people say strange things about you. My dad died, but it didn’t take long, until just after the funeral, that some people started talking shit about him, as if they were better. My father knew how they felt. He’d always say we don’t live in a big house, we don’t drive fancy cars, but we travel and eat out, we have a good life. And we did.

Yes we did. And my father cared about his kids before he cared about himself. During the tennis boom he bought a racket at the gas station, from a passing sot. He didn’t need a good one, the rest of us did.

Now today it’s trendy to poor-mouth. To say you had nothing and still have nothing and isn’t it nice that others have it so good. Forget that so many are lying. Someone just told me he grew up blue collar, lower middle class, but then he let slip his dad was a lawyer. Impossible back in the fifties and sixties. First and foremost there were so many fewer attorneys. But my dad laughed at these people, caught up in their petty games, he was living in his own bubble, his own universe, and created his own rules. My father never adjusted for anybody, being himself earned him his coin.

But we lived in the suburbs, the dreams were different.

So many from my generation grew up in similar circumstances. They did okay financially, but their aspirations were not that high. Writing this right now I realize my aspirations came from my dad, not my mother, the culture vulture. My mother always told me I couldn’t do it, but my dad would smile, maybe give me some cash to proceed and then it was up to me.

Not that he could understand me. But the weirdest thing is so many years later I realize I’m just like him. Which is just plain strange, because if you asked me back then I’d say no way. I too don’t suffer fools. I too don’t weigh in until the conversation is so far off the rails that untruths are being accepted as fact. Because if you interrupt with the truth, people don’t like it. There are people who know the truth, with ambition, but you’ve got to make the contact, you’ve got to figure out a way to enter their circle, be accepted in the virtual club. That’s something most people don’t understand whatsoever. If you’re dealing with someone further up the food chain your only hope of being accepted is acting like you belong, that you’re worthy. Kiss ass and they’ll keep you at arm’s length. Meet so and so, tell the story, a brush with greatness. But hang with them and go to dinner? Priceless!

I really didn’t understand all this until I went to Middlebury College. This was not the suburbs, these people’s fathers were running the country, and suddenly I had access. That’s probably the biggest lesson I learned there, how to deal with the rich and famous, much more important than anything I learned in class.

And my father set me up. He paid the freight. He was proud. Much prouder than I was, in fact. Same deal when I became a lawyer. But then he expected me to stand up and fly straight, when I’m categorically incapable of doing so.

That’s another thing I never realized, my upbringing prevented me from playing the game. Which is all about calibrating your personality and lying so you can make friends and get ahead in business. My father was unfiltered, I had to figure out a way to be so myself and make it work financially.

But then he cut me off. My mother made him. My mother believed in an honest day’s work, punching the clock. God, she tore me down so much that I thought I should be one of those people standing on the street corner, twirling a sign. It was the opposite of today’s generation, parents telling their kids how great they are. Even worse, my parents would tell us how great other kids were. My sisters are still scarred by this. Then again, this yields determination, to prove them wrong. Well, at least in me.

My father knew the grandkids, but not the great-grandkids, who my mother knew before she passed. My father is in the rearview mirror, a part of history. And soon I will be too.

I do the math in my head all the time. How growing up in the sixties if someone was born in the twenties, they were really old. And the Beatles were born in the early forties, very different from the early fifties. And now if you were born in the eighties you’re in your thirties. How did that happen?

And I see people still acting like they did as children. In their behavior. Where do I fit in?

I guess I don’t.

Well, in truth my shrink taught me how. And for years I did that, and there are a ton of rewards in being a member of the group, but now even that group are out of the business, most of them. Music is a young person’s game. You think it’s forever, but in reality it’s for very few.

70 seemed old back in 1992, now it seems young. But it’s not only me who’s going to pass, but everything I believed in. The culture. Most of it was of a moment. Maybe better than what we’ve got today, but those were different times, you have no idea how much the internet has changed the world. At first it was exciting, now we can see the flaws. The mis and disinformation. The ability to become an influencer, famous from your own home. And you’re connected everywhere, and you wish in many ways you weren’t. You don’t want to hear about the old people, what they’re doing. And you don’t want all of their information online, to look up. Because when you do you see where you are. On your way over the hill, when you thought you were different. It’s kind of like “Godfather III,” just when you think you’re out of it, you get pulled back in, your whole history boomerangs back on you.

And I remember the dates. My parents’ birthdays. Those of college friends. Exes. Some of these people aren’t here anymore, and that’s strange. You think about stuff you did that you’re embarrassed by and then you realize it doesn’t make any difference, you can write about it, you’re liberated, because they’re dead! And soon you will be too.

And it’s not that I want my father back around, he’d still be the same guy. He still wouldn’t fully understand my hopes and desires. It’s just that now I’m part of the continuum. He had his time, I had mine, and soon it’ll be someone else’s. We all think we’re living in the future, but one day we wake up and it’s the past.

They told us it would be this way, but we didn’t believe them. But it happened to us too. We’re now the elder statesmen. We didn’t trust anybody over thirty, should today’s generation trust us?

We’ve got a lot to say, but they’re not listening.

But you get old enough and you realize the totems of success are nice, but not necessary, even worse, no one is toting up the numbers, there isn’t a tally at the end, no one ends up on top. Ultimately you’re on your own trip, you’ve got to satisfy yourself. I read a great thing in a book a couple of weeks back. The protagonist was debating whether to take a risk. And he spoke with someone older and wiser and they said that’s how you move ahead in life, by making decisions. You make one, and even if it’s wrong, it will take you to a different place, with a new viewpoint and new opportunities. It’s so hard for me to make a decision. Has this held me back? I want to do it all, will time run out of the hourglass first?

My father made decisions easily. I am the beneficiary.

I am his son.

Fee Waybill is the lead singer of the Tubes. Listen to how he made it from Arizona to San Francisco, from the country to the city, from roadie to frontman. And get an education on polo to boot!

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/fee-waybill/id1316200737?i=1000552806204

https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/9ff4fb19-54d4-41ae-ae7a-8a6f8d3dafa8/episodes/7393fa53-98eb-4eae-adff-82bfe28823c5/the-bob-lefsetz-podcast-fee-waybill

https://www.stitcher.com/show/the-bob-lefsetz-podcast