Easter Sunday. In the morning Bas says to me, “You know the Bunny died for you? So you could sit there and type on that laptop of yours and play your guitar all day?” “What? You don't think I know that man?” No seriously, happy birthday Easter bunny. Or something like that. I still don't know if I totally believe the whole thing about the baby Jesus being born in an egg and the pack of wild Easter bunnies finding him and raising him in the woods and all that. and then him supposedly being carried across the red sea from Egypt to Israel on that cross... with all these bunnies swimming along side of him all that way? I don't know how we are supposed to believe that all these Easter bunnies could swim that far. But I guess that's why they call it Passover....

Good brunch today with friends back in Miami. Conversation centered around prostitution. I mean, what else are you going to talk about on Easter Sunday? Good clean business transaction? Or some sort of evil dangerous thing that can mess you up for years? Is the stigma attached to it just because its illegal? Or is it really a “bad thing” for the customer and the woman as well? Bad for everyone’s soul in some unexplainable way? A charged subject indeed.

The Ferret and the tortoise are your typical single guys. They’ll spend five hours in a club talking to a group of girls and you won't hear one bit of truth or anything of substance come out of their mouths. Its all just jokes and bs. Just tying to impress the girls or make them laugh. Buying them drinks and all this other crap in the hopes that they can take them home and sleep with them. I've never been too good at this. I usually like the more direct approach. I have spent many a drunken night in the car over the years hearing the Ferret scream at me “why the hell are you leaving?! That girl likes you man!” “dude I couldn’t even have a conversation with her.” “Duuuuuude, you're not supposed to have a conversation with her. you're supposed to just nail her. what's wrong with you?!” “But Duuuuuude don't you get it?! we just spent an hour having a conversation with those girls. And that was enough. It was boring as hell....” “But dude that's step one from your infamous book, ‘how to bag a babe in five easy steps,’ be funny, just talk shit, never be serious until you get them to your house! remember!” “I said that?” “Duuuhhh! C'mon man lets go back in there!” “Dude I said that when we were like what? 21! we were in college. this is different.” “Dude trust me. I still use those techniques and they work like magic.” “You know what bro? I'm sure they do. and I am honored by your reference to my jaded past, but we’re not in college anymore. I'm looking for number one now. and I'm not going to find her in this fucking club talking shit.” “Well you know what man? You said the same thing seven years ago and you found Cleopatra and where the fuck did that get you?! huh?! Huh?! Answer me that one! girls suck man. C'mon lets go back in.”

So I offer up at the brunch table, “you know, for arguments sake, what's the difference between a guy spending five hours and a hundred bucks at a club making small talk with a bunch of girls he doesn’t even really like in order to take them home for a night of unbridled casual sex, and another guy casually picking up the phone, calling a service, ordering the girl of his dreams to come over for an hour and spending a little more than that same amount? To me that sounds like a clean transaction. No fuss, no muss, no bs. Just clean unadulterated business.” “I can’t believe you're calling sleeping with a prostitute a clean business transaction!” Bas yells and slams his hand down on the table. “My girlfriend called a male gigolo to come over once. He gave her a massage and then he had sex with her and she said it was the best $200 she ever spent,” offered Amanda. “Nice. Listen tell your friend I'll do it for a hundred” the Ferret says. “If she's hot. “One-fifty if she's not.” Laughs. “I can’t believe you think that some prostitute is the girl of your dreams man! What's happening to you?” Bas shouts. “What next?! You're going to start taking these hoes to the opera with you?!” “Dude have you seen the babes you can buy now? They’re fucking hot,” the tortoise says while downing his cup of coffee. “I'd do it.” “Well Fishy’s done it with every prostitute from here to China. Ask him about it.” “Fishy, why would you ever have to use a prostitute? What about all the groupies you guys get?” “Can’t do it that way man. That would be cheating on my future wife.” “What?” the tortoise spits out his coffee across the table. “That is so gross...” the Ferret yells looking up from his paper for a brief moment. “Why do you have to do that?!” “Hey I thought that was a pretty cool Jack Tripper moment man. Relax will ya?” Fishy thinks that sleeping with a girl he isn't going to marry ‘cheating on his future wife’ but that sleeping with a prostitute isn't.” “you're a sick man.” “Well I'll take that as a compliment man. But seriously, its all probably cheating at this point. I mean...” “How can you call it cheating if you're not married? That's twisted!” “Well you know when you know man. You know if you meet a girl and you don't want to marry her, so what are you doing sleeping with her?” Ferret looks up from his paper, “Uh its called having sex! what's wrong with you?” “Look man, I'm not claiming to know anything that you guys don't. I'm just saying that it feels cleaner. In spirit at least, if not in the flesh.” “You're so fucking philosophical Fishy. I know I'm not going to pay some ho to sleep with her when I can just pick them up at a club. That's for sure. If I was in your shoes and I had all those chicks after me, I'd be doing all of them every chance I got,” tortoise and Bas high five. “You can say that again.” “I hear ya. Maybe you're right. maybe its just a time thing. don't want to waste the time talking to some girl, getting to know her, if I don't have to.... I don't know. but that gets tired after a while. I have a lot of respect for you guys and your ability to put up with all that. but I just can’t anymore...”

Later that day...
We’re at Madelynne O’Ryan’s mom’s house today as with all holidays when we’re lucky enough to be home. Maddie is down for the weekend with her new baby. I feel so lucky to be a part of this family for so long now. they’ve been my home away from home and second family for so long now. sitting on the dock by the intra-coastal watching the lights bounce off of the water. Boats sway gently. Fucking kids are running around everywhere. I'm thinking since when are we not the kids? I mean who the fuck are all these kids anyway? It seems like just yesterday that we were the kids of the house sneaking around the back to smoke out or guzzle a beer... and now we’re supposed to be grownups... crazy...

So we're on the dock and I'm hanging with the big kahuna and maddies older bro. Man I've known these guys forever. he's still chewing. And we’re discussing the finer points between chewing and cigars. Everyone agrees cigarettes are out. but which is better? Chew? Or cigars. Well they had me on the chew. It doesn’t smell as bad as a cigar and it doesn’t fuck up your lungs... but that whole thing with the chew getting in your teeth and floating around your mouth like that... I suppose one could just go tobacco free... but would life really have any meaning if you just didn't use any tobacco at all? lol. But I warn you now. with these tours coming up, I'm going to have to stop smoking cigars again to get my stamina back so if you see me spitting a lot on stage just assume I started chewing. The good news is that my vocals will be kick ass, but chances are I will look like I have a bunch of dirt in my mouth.

God these people are good, I think as I'm sitting at the kitchen table eating some homemade chicken soup that Mrs. O'Ryan made. Treated me so well for so long. Like part of the family.

Received an Easter basket in the mail from mum as always. No matter where I am, I always get an Easter basket from her. Like clockwork. Love you mom.

Have you ever noticed that there are people who, when in conversation, speak as if they are not really speaking to you, but more just to themselves? They don't look at you when they speak, only occasionally. I wonder what is happening there.

Jazz says “God I wish I could be a guy one time. Just so I could know what it felt like to want me so bad.”

Current Spin: Sinatra at the sands hotel in ’65 with count Basie orchestra and Quincy Jones conducting. Modest concert, not my favorite. This was the beginning of his cheesy drinking gambling Mafioso street fighting tough guy act. At the time and for thirty years my great uncle was the musical director at the Sands. This is how we were introduced to the American crooners, Sinatra and Dean, Sammy and Tony Bennett and Perry Como and so many more, through his stories over the holidays. One cannot say that I came upon music by chance I guess. Perhaps there is something to it being in the blood. I cannot say for sure. Is art in the blood? Is it fate? Or is it just learned? Or a combination of all of it mixed together? if I had to commit myself I would say that what it feels like is more of a soul thing... and if it happens to be in the blood then maybe it makes it all the better... but it certainly doesn’t need to be.

Last screening: jersey girl. This is a really really really bad movie. Kevin smith we will assume is in a transition period. lets call it that....