he had a reason to get back to lake charles
he used to talk about it, he'd just go on and on
he always said louisiana was where he felt at home.

lucinda is a bad bitch.

i have a theory that she is not really a woman, but tom petty in drag. you never see them together or on tour at the same time. coincidence? i think not.
think about it.

well, i'm leaving today for the first of two private lake parties. it is in quitman, tx and is called farmfest. i'm looking forward to it. randy langley is going along to pick with me, and andy pate will be showing his face. sunday is in weatherford at the fourth annual "donstock". they came to the wreck room to give me directions and showed me the flyer in which they misspelled my name. "SCOTT COPLAND". i have a good mind not to go now. copland. that's what i want....a land full of cops. fuck.

my father just left this morning for his annual harley trip to the west coast where he will be riding his harley davidson dynaglide across the golden gate bridge. i swear to god he thinks he's peter fonda. ex-high school football coach turned hippie biker dude. here's a little tidbit for you.... my father graduated high school in 65 and college in 69 and has never even seen marijuana. somewhat of a minor miracle you might say. well, actually he has seen weed once before. one morning my brother, dad, and i went golfing and he was digging through my bag for some tees and found and ounce of hydro i had stashed. he didn't know what it was and pulled it out and smelled it and goes,"is this marijuana?", as he held over his head on the first tee. i ran over there and put it back in the bag and blamed it on my brother. he didn't say a word the whole round. that day sucked.
he will be going with me to the mike mcclure first annual floatfest. i'm looking forward to some q.t. with ol' dad.

i'm currently working on a couple of new diddies. they are in the infantile stage. for all of you who are wanna-be songwriters and would like to know how i write songs. i usually pace myself and try to complete one song per month. that's twelve songs a year. it's not a tremendously fast pace at all, but it keeps me from going insane. sometimes i get hot and will write four or five in one month, and that requires at least two months off from even thinking about writing a song. i figure it's an album a year. it boggles my mind that bob dylan has 1500 songs on catalog with bmi. that's freakish. at my pace, i will have to live until i'm 142 years old. of course, i do blog and write professional movie reviews. i believe i should be given some consideration for that. not to mention the movie i'm working on. goddamn i'm a workaholic.

i wanted to thank the toad for the cd's he got me. a bootlegged dylan concert in paris. it is very good. i've worn it out over the last three days.

i remember i used to live in these apartments right next to a little league baseball park. i would go over to the games sometimes and get a hot dog and watch little leaguers. the thought crossed my mind one time that i bet god feels like he is watching stranger's kids play little league baseball. i rooted for every single kid to get a hit and i felt horrible for them when they struck out, but then after the game i went home and forgot all about it. that's what i think god feels like.
but what do i know.

i'm just a struggling songwriter/screenwriter/movie critic/social commentator.

gotta get ready. be cool.

"i can't complain but sometimes i'll still do" -- joe walsh

keep in the short grass,

scott