gig raze he made up his mind that he was going to drive across the river that separated his country from mine and play in my city. we'd been emailing each other for years. this was a way for us to finally meet in person. i helped him book a gig at this quirky little coffee shop i loved and did what i could to call attention to it. all the promoters who told me to let them know if i ever had something going on ignored me. none of the people who told me they would be there showed up. he almost didn't make it across the border. he made some weird joke when the customs officer asked him a question. the guy decided he seemed suspicious and wouldn't let him through. he had to get someone he knew to smuggle him in. he swaddled himself in sweaters and hid in the back seat of their car. the only people in the room that night were friends who were there to see me. there might have been half a dozen of us. i felt like throwing up. he didn't seem bothered by the turnout. he welcomed everyone to his living room and played his set. some songs i knew. some i'd never heard before. one was about frank sinatra having the ability to mentally slap people. another was called "never date crazy". he dedicated it to me. there was no amplification. just him and an acoustic guitar and a coffeemaker that was almost as loud as he was. when he was singing the song of his that meant the most to me, i stood up, joined him on what passed for a stage, and sang the high harmony he handled himself on the album. it wasn't planned. i knew i'd regret it for the rest of my life if i didn't grab the moment by the shoulders and shake it until it saw stars. if it had been a full house, i probably wouldn't have had the courage to leave my seat. most of the money that went in the hat when they passed it around came from me. when his hour was up, we talked as late into the night as our bodies would let us. i can't remember a thing we said. it was one of the best shows i ever saw. and you weren't there. no one was. 231221 what's it to you? who go blather from