Just when I was on the brink of bemoaning my shortened summer vacation courtesy of Dr. Laura and my own misadventures in Marconi’s Box, I noticed a tweet from the prolific and exhausted singer-songwriter-author Rosanne Cash. Lamenting a slew of radio and TV show appearances to promote her newly released memoir “Composed,” the alt-country/folk icon tweeted:

“20 press & radio, 5 TV shows, 3 photo sessions & 9 readings in 7 cities in 2 weeks. Stamina showing cracks.”

I haven’t read the book–which will debut at #20 on the New York Times Bestseller List this Sunday–yet, but it’s on my list. Let’s all pick-up copies and knock Laura Ingraham off her tenuous and inexplicable perch on the Non-Fiction List.

BTW Cash’s “The List” is a must listen collection from last year. A select “List” of 10 songs her dad, the legendary Johnny Cash deemed essentials. He apparently constructed the list of “100 Essential Country Songs” over 35 years ago during her first tour with him. I’m not sure how she narrowed it down ( there may be 9 additional albums in the offing), but her interpretations are unique, fresh and often memorable. My favorites: “Sea of Heartbreak” features Bruce Springsteen and “Heartaches by the Number, ” with Elvis Costello. Cash’s voice blends perfectly with their soulful crags.

Her sultry interpretation of the classic country melodrama”Ode to Billie Joe” isn’t featured on the album, but the performance here was captured live this past July Fourth on New York’s Governor’s Island. It’s a perfect elixir on a mellow summer sojourn.

Drive safe Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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Hey, it’s not your mama’s beach read, but if you want to kick up so emotional sand, check out Shana Mahaffey’s darkly comic debut novel, “Sounds Like Crazy.” Read more in my NJP review and interview with the author. She’s a cool new writer who, I suspect, we’ll be hearing a lot from in the future. Oh, and you know the drill: tweets, digs, comments–as you see fit!

‘Sounds Like Crazy’: Mahaffey’s Darkly Comic Novel Kicks Up Emotional Sand | NEWS JUNKIE POST

My summer reading list has been all over the place. Finally read last year’s Pulitzer Fiction winner, “Olive Kitteridge.” Elizabeth Strout is one of those authors that requires time to fall into the stories. But once you do, you’ll find yourself lingering in the luxurious layers of language and character. I almost gave up on her first novel “Amy & Isabel,” but once I got into it, I was so glad to have given the story and its characters the investment.

Also read the Belinda Carlisle memoir, “Lips Unsealed.” The former Go Gos front woman leaves nothing to the imagination as she recounts her raucus rock ‘n’ roll odyssey. Always fascinated by how people can be so dysfunctional and yet soar to the top in their careers. Amazing the chick’s still alive–and fairly cogent–given all the drugs she consumed for soooo many years!

For a truly eye-opening exploration of America’s culture wars check out Thomas Frank’s “What’s The Matter With Kansas.” The Wall Street Journal columnist takes on the heartland and just how and why so many working folks vote against their own economic interests. A fast-moving read with some important observations and questions. By the way, a documentary based on the book was just released. Should be heading to DVD soon.

Almost finished with Jessica Handler’s moving family memoir of loss and grief, “Invisible Sisters.” Will have a more complete review soon.

So what are you reading on the beach and beyond? RG wants to know.

Drive safe. Play nice. Read peace.

aba

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Thanks Radio Graffiti fans for maxing out the comment section on the “Doing Time“post. I appreciate the passionate and interesting commentary from myriad points of view. I think Molly, Liz and others who’ve suggested an RG Book Club may be on to something.

Okay, I’ve heard your arguments–and there were lots of them–but I stand by my review of “Orange is the New Black.” It’s a compelling story, told with a compassionate and surprisingly funny voice. That’s enough for me. I don’t know Piper Kerman and can’t vouch for her character–quite frankly, that’s not my job ( or yours). But wow, we’ve got a bunch of Judge Judies tagging along for the RG ride. And for those who’ve hurled harsh judgements against the author– and this reader– I’m not sure where all that vitriol is emanating from. It’s hard not to empathize with Piper, and her travails even though she caused her own plight. Ever made a mistake? Granted hers was a whopper, but she was young and reckless and paid a heavy price. Even though the most reckless thing I ever did in my early twenties was ditch grad school for my first full time radio gig ( thank God, they can’t lock you up for everything), I know good people can do bad things. And I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, I’m neither privy to nor concerned about her motivations for writing the book. If she’s merely trying to cash in on a hot story as some cynics have suggested, more power to her. Is she spinning it to make herself look good–or at least less bad? No doubt. It’s a memoir. And besides being–as my agent constantly reminds me–the hot, hot genre of the day– this most personal form is inherently unreliable. It is a personal story, written from memory and told from one person’s point of view. We create our own mythology, tell ourselves our own stories in ways we can live with.

Whatever Piper Kerman’s motivations, I applaud her for telling this story. As a writer and teacher/coach, I know just how difficult it is to birth a book, how much courage it takes to tell one’s own story, especially such a painful one. Piper could have left it all behind as she walked out of that last dingy prison with a relatively small group of people aware of her crime and incarceration. For good or ill, she will now forever be tethered to this experience, this story. A story that by the way, transcends her personal journey, and offers colorful and loving portraits of the women she did her time with while it raises questions about criminal sentencing, punishment and rehabilitation in this country. For what it’s worth, she also seems to have carved out a niche as an advocate for judicial and prison reform. That, in itself, speaks to redemption.

So I’m still recommending “Orange is the New Black.” If you missed the first round of hoopla, check out my NJP article. Postcards From America’s Abyss: Brave, Funny Prison Memoir Sheds Light On Broken System | NEWS JUNKIE POST And you can read the slew of opinions in the “Doing Time” post.

For those willing to give it a chance, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. And I’d be delighted to hear your thoughts. For everyone else, case closed.

Oh, and I can’t wait to hear what you guys have to say about John Waters’ “Role Models.”

Drive safe. Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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The closest thing I came to doing a prison stretch was being hauled off during a radio charity “Jail ‘n’ Bail.” That pretty much consisted of sitting around a cozy restaurant downing Diet Cokes while dialing up friends and co-workers for the “bail money” that would benefit the March of Dimes. Did get to have my mug shot taken with a old-timey black and white striped jailbird uniform draped over my clothes.

After reading Piper Kerman’s moving and funny memoir, “Orange is the New Black,” I hope to continue to elude the authorities. Doing time–even at a minimum security federal camp-is as Piper’s pal Pop says–”nothin’ nice.” Read more in my latest NJP review. And you’ve got to read this book. While I have a few literary quibbles with Piper’s back story and the shadowy cast of her “outside” supporting cast ( sorry, but are those in-laws for real?), the story of Piper’s prison journey and the women she meets is told with such love, compassion and humor. It’s a true tour de force. Read it and tell me what you think.

Postcards From America’s Abyss: Brave, Funny Prison Memoir Sheds Light On Broken System | NEWS JUNKIE POST

Wonder if Bernie Kerrick, NYC’s disgraced former top cop–who just surrendered to a federal facility in Maryland–took it along as bedtime reading.

POP-O-RAMA

Speaking of doing time–or avoiding it–Woody Allen says “Roman Polanski’s paid his dues.” Sorry, but isn’t that a little like Oprah saying Kirstie Alley’s lost enough weight? Come on, people, if Polanksi wasn’t a famous director would there really be any debate? Do the time, Roman. Get it over with, and get on with your life. And Woody, you might want to stay out of it. Heard from Mia lately?

The blogs are abuzz: tonight’s “Judges’ Choice” on “Idol” and there’s talk of Simon picking a tough tune for Lee so his fave Crystal will win. Hmm.. could backfire, Tune in. I always said it would come down to Lee and Crystal. And front-runner’s often fall. Remember last year, Adam Lambert was the one to beat. And Kris Allen did just that. Year before, Archie was the favorite. Who won? David Cook. Just sayin’. Don’t crown Crystal yet. BTW: in case you’re keeping score, I’d be happy either way. They’re both good. Casey, too. They’ve got a more talented final three than they’ve had in years. Guess that explains the tumbling ratings!

Drive safe. Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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No stranger to the social tinderbox, provocative playwright/director, David Mamet tackles his most explosive four letter word yet in his latest play, “Race” Read more in my latest News Junkie Post review. Please Digg, tweet, comment as you see fit. And take time to explore the NJP site; you’ll discover some other cool writers and interesting articles,too.

“Race” Dances With The National Albatross on Broadway | NEWS JUNKIE POST

Pop-o-Rama:
Who’s whining now? Looks like Conan O’Brien’s karma is about to run over George Lopez’s dharma…. Coco has inked a late night deal with TBS. His show which will air Mondays-Thursdays at 11 will push “Lopez Tonight” to midnight starting in November.

“The Washington Post” beat “The New York Times” in the Pulitzer race; 4 to 3. The Drama prize went to “Next to Normal.” Fiction: Paul Harding’s “Tinkers” Non-Fiction: “The Dead Hand” by David E. Hoffman. Hank Williams received a special citation. Check out the Pulitzer Page for a complete list of winners.

Oh, yeah, if you were rooting for the “The National Enquirer,” sorry to tell you the rag went home empty. Told you they never should have messed with Barbara Walters.

Speaking of media heavyweights: Kitty Kelly’s new unauthorized Oprah bio is due today, but don’t look for the author, who apparently paints a less than flattering picture of the talk queen, to make the talk show rounds. She’s not expecting invites from “The View“, ” “Larry King Live” or “The Joy Behar Show” ( which in case you’re keeping score, is now officially getting on my mother’s nerves). Seems everyone’s afraid to cross the big O.

No one wants to talk with Marianna Pasternak either. She’s Martha Stewart’s ex-bff. Guess after testifying against the domestic diva at her now infamous stock fraud trial they decided to call the whole friendship thing off. Now Pasternak’s out with a tell-all, “The Best of Friends.” This one sounds juicy, too.

Time to hit the books, kids.

Drive safe. Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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Don’t get me wrong: no one will likely hold a benefit for any of the characters in Dominick Dunne’s last novel, Too Much Money. But the uber rich and socially connected do have their share of woes. The novel, which the celebrity justice journalist and “high society” novelist had just completed at the time of his death last fall, is a delicious finale to an interesting and impressive career ( for more on Dunne, see my tribute in the September archive).

Fans of his previous novels will recognize some familiar characters including the scribe’s gruff and lovable alter ego, writer Gus Bailey. Here Gus like Dunne is battling cancer and a slander lawsuit. Gus’s legal troubles mirror that of Dunne who had been sued by former California congressman Gary Condit over remarks he made on TV implicating the pol in the death of D.C. intern Chandra Levy. If you follow Page Six and the social columns you’ll recognize some other thinly disguised characters, too. Adele Harcourt is a dead ringer for Brooke Astor, the late philanthropist whose scandalous end-of-life treatment at the hands of her own son found its way into the gossip pages and the courts. There are mentions, too, of notorious cases Dunne chronicled in Vanity Fair for twenty-five years.

While Dunne never earned the reputation of Fitzgerald or even Capote (something he lamented from time to time), he is swirling around the same terrain. And no one in recent years has quite captured the rarefied world of the dwindling elite upper class and the climbers who try to claw their way in. The literary equivalent of eating peanuts, Too Much Money will keep you consuming pages at a fast and furious clip. And that sort of tribute should delight any author. I had so much fun, I passed the book on and started re-devouring one of his earlier novels, An Inconvenient Woman. If that’s not homage, Dunne-o what is!

Drive safe. Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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It’s official. Obscurity is the new fame. Hear me out: with so few of us obscure folks left, we are now the coveted ones, leading quiet mysterious lives, roaming around with nary a paparazzi in sight. Oh, to be us. The few. The proud. The unknown.

When few people were famous, fame meant something. It used to be associated with accomplishments or good deeds. Sure there have always been notorious people who got attention for crimes and brazen bad behavior. But back in the day, such infamy wasn’t cherished. Now it seems everyone wants in. No matter how the fame is attained. For those willing to risk utter humiliation, the non-exclusive reality TV arena is the easiest route to coarse, ephemeral fame. And the big bucks that usually accompany it.

Case in point: The Jersey Shore , MTV’s inexplicable phenomenon follows the sexploits of a bunch of uneducated, ill-mannered louts. This is not suggest the louts are complete idiots: they managed to hold the network hostage to the tune of $10K an episode each for season two of the popular reality show, which, by the way, will be filmed in some resort to be named later(and not at the Jersey Shore). The cast even appeared this week on the popular pop culture clearinghouse, The View, fielding– with seriously dimwitted charm–questions about the show’s stereotypes and their own futures.

On Wednesday, the Octomom spent a few of her exhausting fifteen minutes on The View’s couch. In the segment (I think they gave her two) that I cringed through she laughed her cartoonish maniacal laugh umpteen times and managed to drop in her forthcoming book another half dozen. Give it a watch if you dare. But don”t say I didn’t warn you about the head spinning and nausea such a viewing may induce.

Speaking of books: I had a conversation with an agent last week that sums up the current state of our culture.

“Stop with the fiction already. No one’s buying it. I can’t sell it,” she told me flat-out.
“Well, some people are still publishing fiction. Look at the Bestseller list,” I protested.
“Last time I looked you’re name wasn’t Danielle Steel. Or Stephen King.”
“So what’s a girl to do?”
“I dunno. Maybe a memoir. You could turn that clunker radio novel back into a memoir.”
“What do you mean turn back into?”
“Isn’t it based on your experiences?”
“Loosely. But a lot of it is made up. It’s fic…it’s a novel.”
We’re on the phone; but I can hear the eye roll. “That’s okay. It can be repackaged.”
“Uh, didn’t that kind of back fire on James Frey a few years ago?”
“Yeah, but they’re still doing it. Now they just put a disclaimer at the beginning. Augusten Burroughs has been getting away with murder for years.”
“I’m not so sure that’ll work for me.”
“So try something self-helpy,” she offered, alluding to my background as a counselor and creativity coach. “That might work.” Then she let out an old school raspy cigarette infused chortle and added, “Go get yourself a reality show. Then come back and we’ll talk.”

Then she lamented how envious she was that a colleague had just signed her third “housewife.” Housewife as in that ludicrous Bravo TV franchise that I admittedly indulge in during the NYC and New Jersey seasons as a guilty pleasure. It’s true, almost every Real Housewife has a book deal. They write–or rather have ghost scribes write–about diets or manners or exercise. Even the dumb ones like Teresa–she of the famous NJ table flip–who probably have never read an entire book in their lives–have scored deals.

But who wants to be in league with these characters? Better to be one of the unchosen few. Unless. Wait, I could have a show circumventing annoying agents, obnoxious editors and crazy clients. Not to mention my hilarious family and friends. On second thought that won’t work. They’d wind up filming us sitting around making snarky comments as we watched other reality shows.

Hey, think I just stumbled upon next season’s inexplicable hit.

Drive safe. Play nice. Think fame.

aba

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We heard the news twenty nine years ago today. And for those of us too young to remember the assassination of JFK, 12/8/80,the night John Lennon was gunned down and murdered in front of his home at the Dakota in New York City was our collective loss of innocence. For kids born in the ’60’s and ’70’s the brutal death of a cultural icon was our jolt into an unforgiving decade. A friend broke the news and we spent the night riveted to both TV and, mostly, the radio. This was in the days before before 24/7 cable TV, so we turned to the DJs to offer comfort and context. Already intrigued by Marconi’s Box, this episode lured me closer to what would be a rewarding if somewhat tumultuous career in radio.

Coming of age in the era of Ronald Reagan, AIDS and Gordon Gekko’s “Greed is good” rally cry, our generation may have been more cynical than the Boomers before us, but we still had the music to sew generation to generation. And for nearly fifty years the Beatles have been a vibrant common thread in that cultural mosaic. The recent success of both their digitally remastered collections and the Beatles: the Band video game is evidence of the band’s remarkable influence and staying power.

Dubbed the “smart Beatle,” John Lennon’s musical and literary sophistication is apparent in a wide spectrum of the group’s tunes including “Norwegian Wood,” “Strawberry Fields” and “The Ballad of John & Yoko.” His solo career–surprisingly substantial considering his self described “house husband” hiatus in the mid-seventies and his tragic death at forty–shows both poetic flourish(the iconic “Imagine”) and homage to his early rock roots (“Whatever Gets you Through the Night”).

Lennon’s bold public persona and wry humor made him something of an acquired taste at first. His infamous 1965 comment about the Beatles being “bigger than Jesus” was misconstrued and led to a brief U.S. radio ban. Lennon never said the Beatles were greater than Jesus; he was making a sarcastic observation about the outrageous hoopla that fueled Beatlemania.But soundbites aren’t kind to wit or nuance. Other artists like Sinead O’Connor, Cat Stevens (Yusef Islam) and the Dixie Chicks would share similar backlashes, each with varying rebounds.

The Beatles’ popularity, of course, persisted, despite Lennon’s growing outspoken political proclivities. Some were offended, others amused and enlightened by John and Yoko’s famous Bed-in for Peace. Part early ’70’s publicity stunt, part traveling demonstration, the events–staged to end the War in Vietnam– irritated the so-called establishment and earned Lennon a spot on Richard Nixon’s enemies list. Nixon and his FBI henchman J. Edgar Hoover were so threatened by John’s charisma and sway with the already divisive youth culture, they actively waged a campaign to oust him from the country, using a minor pot bust years earlier in the U.K. as their ammo. You’ll find a compelling account of the case and the era in the documentary The U.S. vs John Lennon ,available now on DVD.

The plot for Lennon’s deportation was squashed by public outrage with a little help from John’s friends in the arts and politics. And he was allowed to remain in the adopted city with which he shared such mutual love. Given his sense of irony, John would probably shrug and sing a few lines of “Instant Karma” had he been privy to his tragic fate on that peaceful New York City street he called home.

John Lennon was a complicated man: a poet with a showman’s touch; an idealist with a pragmatic knack. ( pairing the Lennon/Ono classic ” War is over with “Happy Christmas” was a brilliant move. The medley became a multi-generational anthem that is played annually on thousands of radio stations worldwide.) He had suffered early tragedy, losing his mother to a car accident when he was seventeen; and as a father he had a tricky relationship with his oldest son Julian( who has said recently the two were repairing their strains at the time of John’s death). He was famous for his devotion to Yoko, but he left her briefly for another woman. He had returned in time to rekindle both their passionate romance and his career. The comeback album, Double Fantasy was released just before his death.

Every year around John’s birthday in October and now on the anniversary of his death, people speculate about all the work he could have, would have amassed in the all those stolen years. Yoko has said John would have loved the Internet, and would have certainly found interesting uses of the new medium. Julian–who has just emerged from his own nearly two decade self-exile from music –said his father would most certainly have continued to make music. And Lennon may have also continued his passions for painting and writing. His sketches and paintings have fetched high price tags at auctions. And he displays a raw, literary flare in his book, Skywriting by Word of Mouth.

Lennon’s legacy for peace, captured in beautiful and profound simplicity: “War is over. If we want it,” is as relevant today as it was all those years ago. It’s still hard to believe anyone was ever threatened by such a loving and powerful message. Events from Band Aid to Farm Aid and artists from Bono to Springsteen, R.E.M. to the Indigo Girls, Mellencamp to the Dixie Chicks all owe a debt to Lennon’s audacity, conscience and spirit.

From his exquisite discography to his indelible influences in music and society, John Lennon will forever shine on. Like the moon and the stars and the sun.

Drive safe. Play nice. Think peace.

aba

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“He may come off as gruff or abrupt, but he’s got a big heart. And he’s really glad to do this.” That’s what Dominick Dunne’s assistant told me as we finalized details for the author’s radio interview with me in 2002. I was hosting the afternoon drive talk show on WGCH in Greenwich, CT and he was covering the Skakel murder trial in Stamford for Vanity Fair and Court TV.

The Dunne interview was a big “get” as Skakel was on trial for murdering his Greenwich neighbor Martha Moxley over twenty-five years earlier in 1975 when they were both fifteen.It was big news in town and– thanks to Dunne and disgraced O.J.Simpson cop, Mark Furhman whose bestseller,Murder in Greenwich helped re-open the case– big news across the country, too. The fact that Skakel–already in his forties and bloated beyond his years–was a Kennedy cousin(RFK’s widow, Ethel is his father’s sister)only added celebrity cache to the case.

Dunne, who died at eighty-three, ironically on the same day as Sen. Ted Kennedy, has long been a Kennedy family nemesis. He had covered the William Kennedy Smith rape trial in the early ’90’s ( Smith was acquitted) and loosely based his novel, A Season in Purgatory on the Moxley murder. I don’t know if Ted Kennedy harbored any animosity towards the scribe, but Bobby Kennedy Jr. has had a well-televised feud with Dunne in the years following his cousin’s murder conviction.

When we did our interview(he was, btw, nothing but kind and charming), Dunne had a queasy feeling that Mickey Sherman, Skakel’s charismatic attorney, might get his guy a walk. “I hate to say it, but he might be creating reasonable doubt,” he said, sounding crest-fallen. Dunne needn’t have worried. By the time prosecutor Jonathan Benedict finished his closing argument the Guilty verdict was all but assured.

Dunne was a true believer who took all his celebrated cases to heart. He wasn’t an impartial journalist, a charge–much to his critics’ chagrin–he would cheerfully cop to. After his daughter Dominique, a promising twenty-two year old actress was strangled by her ex-boyfriend John Sweeney in 1982, Dunne became a sort of celebrity avenging angel, fearlessly taking the victims’ part, and often bonding with their families.

Tina Brown, then the new editor of Vanity Fair was sitting next to Dunne at a dinner party the night before he was to fly out to Los Angeles for the murder trial of his daughter’s killer. She implored him to take notes. And when he returned she found the magazine’s first voice. “Dominick had a voice that was so powerful, that spoke to you right off the page,” she says in Dominick Dunne: After the Party a documentary observing the famed observer and just out on DVD.

That first and toughest assignment launched Dunne’s new career. He had already had a flamboyant first act as a successful, then failed TV and movie producer with credits including Al Pacino’s breakthrough Panic in Needle Park and Mort Crowley’s groundbreaking Boys in the Band . And he had already penned the bestselling novel, The Two Mrs. Grenvilles, based on the infamous Woodward case in which showgirl turned socialite Ann Woodward killed her estranged husband and got off claiming she mistook him for a burglar.

He went on to cover a slew of trials for VF including: O.J, Simpson,the Menendez brothers(Leslie Abramson, Erik’s high profile lawyer, isn’t a Dunne fan, accusing him in After the Party of making up “convenient facts.”); Robert Blake and Phil Spector. He did live to see Spector’s second trial–his swan song–end in a conviction for the 2003 murder of actress Lana Clarkson.

After the Party, directed by Kirsty de Garis and Timothy Jolley offers a fascinating glimpse into Dunne’s extraordinary life. Through grainy black and white home movies and interviews with Dunne, friends and a few foes we get to be that proverbial fly on a famous wall. He doesn’t need his son actor Griffin Dunne to remind him,”Dad wasn’t easy to live with. He was always a work-in-progress.” He readily admits his reckless social climbing cost him his marriage to the one woman he loved long after they had divorced and she passed away. He doesn’t need his pal producer Robert Evans to tell him of his final faux pas that ran him out of Hollywood.

Dunne tells, with some relish, the tale of Ash Wednesday. Listed in many movie review guides as a “Bomb,” the last film he produced boasted a star cast with Elizabeth Taylor and Henry Fonda; the script, written by the husband of a powerful Hollywood publicist, however, was a mess. Dunne made an infamous comment, ” They should have called it ‘When a Fat Girl Ealls in Love,’” which appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.Evans, according to Dunne, told him he’d never work ” in this town again.” In Party, Evans laughs, claiming he might have said it, but he can’t remember.

With both his marriage and career in the dumpster, Dunne took what little money he had left and took off into the Oregon woods where he holed up for six months, and at age fifty tried his first hand at fiction, living off canned pork and beans and communing with nature. He moved to New York vowing to become a bestselling author.

And he did it. Along with his Vanity Fair columns and popular Court TV (now TRU TV) show, Dominick Dunne’s Power, Privilege & Justice, he wrote eight bestsellers. His ninth book, a novel, Too Much Money–which he had just put the finishing touches on–is set for a December release. His funeral service was held Thursday, September 10, in New York City. His family, fittingly, requested in lieu of flowers donations be made to the National Center for Victims of Crime.

In After the Party, which I believe was filmed a year before he fell ill to the cancer that claimed his life, he is robust and full of the energy of a man half his age. If you check his website, www.dominickdunne.net, you’ll see he was blogging well into August, tackling everything from news of his new book to musings on Phil Spector’s prison gripes and somber reflections on his own illness. His fans, including this one,are grateful to have tagged along for such a remarkable ride.

Rest in peace, Dominick. You earned it.

Drive safe. Play nice. think peace.

aba

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