Do jets have rear-view mirrors? (And if they do, what’d be in them?)

Such is the strange start to the notes I penned on the red-eye out of Portland, which I have still only begun to transcribe. Not the least of which because when I say, “penned” I mean literally — there was far too little space on my tray table what with the seat-back in front of me being in the non-upright and unlocked position — and I haven’t actually handwritten anything longer than a post-it sized message for so long I barely remember how. My penmanship was never good; it is now something of a curiosity, even to me. And so, if you’ll pardon me, the full report will be a day or two.

Meanwhile… I note a sad passing.

Back when gas was near free and the earth wasn’t warming — just bear with me, okay? — there were few things I enjoyed more than a spirited drive with the sunroof open — better still, the top down — and Boston’s Don’t Look Back blasting just as loud as the stereo would go. I mean, c’mon — a Hammond organ, a perfectly fuzzed rock n’ roll guitar and the open road… what’s not to love? And so I’m saddened today to learn of the passing of Brad Delp, Boston’s long-time front-man, and arguably the nicest guy in rock and roll.

Rock on, Brad.

I finally see the dawn arrivin’
I see beyond the road I’m drivin’
Far away and left behind.

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