One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other, etc.

We here at Puttin' On The Ritz are not a bunch of total luddites, although we have been accused of being such. Why, you wonder? Perhaps it is because in general, the level of technology we employ predates fire. Well, that is not entirely true, as I often sing through an amplifier and Kevin's drums contain refined metal. But the spirit is there, we could be banging on wooden drums with animal hides for skins and screaming. We look forward to the day when chips are implanted in our brains and we can be with you, virtually, any time, no matter where you are. Video chatting will seem primitive compared to the technology employed to bring us closer to your hearts. That being said, I somehow found myself at some Italian restaurant in New Jersey last night, not really the first place you would expect to find me. One Uncle Floyd was playing piano and singing, along with a revolving cast of characters. Reputedly he is some sort of cable access hero in New Jersey, a legend if you will. Bad jokes were told, people danced. Somehow Nattles (who orchestrated the whole adventure and claimed it was seven years in the making, despite the fact that I had only found out about it the day before) talked me into singing Fly me to the Moon with Uncle Floyd. I went on to attempt to sing it straight, but at this point I can only hear the song the way we play it so I'm sure Uncle Floyd had a hell of a time keeping up with me. I think it went over well despite my tonal difficulties, although I have to admit that I was actually nervous. Me, nervous! Weird! It would seem that I've gotten quite used to having Kevin there for moral support. I hope he feels the same way, but as I am pretty sure he is still sleeping I'm not going to count on it. Would you wait underwater? I suppose it all depends on what you are waiting for. So until we all become cyborgs, I guess we will have to rely on more traditional means of communication. We are a little bit psychic, but that does not mean that we can read your mind. We will continue to blow it, however. Six of one, a half dozen of the other or whatever. I'm still waiting for the aliens to come take me away, or at the very least faster than light travel to be discovered so you can read this before I even write it. Mere light is not fast enough to convey our sentiments, which might occasionally be mixed (depending on a variety of factors including but not limited to being drunk or asleep) -- but know that we care, even if no one else does. You are not alone, even if you do not have a chip in your brain that allows us to be in constant contact. You are in our thoughts, and we miss you when you are away. Relativity don't mean shit, can you dig? Well, actually, this is all about relativity but I'm not sure this is exactly what Einstein had in mind. So do what you need to do but don't forget the Alamo.