Oh, and Warren Zevon, the stud/god of the century:
Dang. He’s like eating potato chips.
Apparently I can only have “Detox Mansion” as a cover:
To Loraine, for insisting on Zevon’s greatness along with that of William Shakespeare’s (“much better than you and your Henry Thurber or whoever.”
“No,” I replied. “Just a bit better than Henry and me. But better.”)
And to David, for reminding me every year or so just how much that man rawks. (I’m religious, yo; I can use the present tense. How do ya like me now?)
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