A new day dawns, full of promise, hope and trepidation. Of course, I'm talking about the day after New Years Eve, when, like a freshly minted visiting angel, Uncle Southside awoke sprawled upon a park bench by Sunset Lake in Asbury Park to the pleasant morning sound of a jolly local gendarme beating out "Shave-and-a haircut" on my skull with his nightclub. There is always something reassuring in the familiar. Unlike the old days, however, he didn't manhandle me into the drunk cell, but, in deference to my advanced years and... ahem... fame, merely bade me a hearty "Get the hell outta here, ya bum" and sent me on my way. Oh, tender mercies! I have always relied on the nastiness of strangers.

In my stupor, I recalled the festive evening before. The champagne, the camaraderie, the barfbag.....If that goddammed Carol Gerber hadn't fooled with the clock, I coulda gotten outta there in a reasonable amount of time, but NOOOOOOOO!. She kept setting it back 15 minutes and showing it to me as if it were the real time. So we played a VERY long set. Ask Joe Belia. He still isn't talking to me.

But a good time was had by all. I think.

Thanks for coming. Was I there?

Southside