I Was Too Stoned to Perform: A Love Story, Kinda
A postscript: The story above is all to very true. It happened February, 196053 years ago. I've alluded to you before, that when I finish one of these articles, I feel drained and a bit sad; good or bad, I've always had an excellent memory for just about everything that I've encountered in and during my lifenot always a fun thing (the remembrance that is). One very well-known jazz CD reviewer recently said about me in his critique, "Mort Weiss has to be flirting with 80." Well, not quite; I'll be 78 this coming April, but I do hope to flirt with 80. When I write one of these remembrances, I do it as assiduously as if I was playing my horntotally and completely immersed in the story and emotionally reliving all that happened and all the feelings that said story evokesthe laughter and the tears. Maybe I'm writing that book (with these pieces) a little bit at a time, but right now, right this moment, I keep hearing John Greenleaf Whittlers words, thusly:
"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, are these 'it might have been.'" Goodbye for now.