Back at my favorite Waffle House. It is my favorite because it is the closest. Gas being so expensive, I don't drive out to Mt. Juliet or Lebanon for breakfast like I used to. I put 143,000 miles on the 1997 Nissan. The 2003 has 151,000. That is 12 times around the world without going anywhere. Pursuing the dream (nightmare) of getting songs published in Nashville. But I have gone somewhere. I took my kid around the 48 during his college years. And I made side trips to Alaska and Hawaii. I wanted to see the northern lights in Alaska but missed them because of a full moon. Not sure how that happened because I normally follow the phases of the moon. I talked to a girl from Alaska at BuckWild Saloon. She lives near Anchorage. I told her I sang karaoke in Anchorage at a place called The Woodshed. She said The Woodshed is not there anymore. That's life! I live in a karaoke prison. It started so innocently 15 years ago. I went with an old friend to a bar his nephew managed. They were doing karaoke and talked me into getting up and singing a song. I never stopped. I wrote 200 new songs, but nobody cares. At least not here. There are millions and millions of songs, and everybody in Nashville sings, writes and plays guitar. I played the Bluebird and Douglas Corner, then grew tired of hearing [censored] songs I would never hear again. At least with karaoke, all the songs are hits. I get to be Elvis Presley, The Beatles, ABBA and Shania Twain rolled into one. Coming back from BuckWild, WSM played Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs singing, "Honey, let me be your salty dog." What the hell is a "salty dog?" I have always wondered that. Scruggs is gone, and so is Dick Clark. I must say I thought Dick Clark looked like Frankenstein in his later years. The women who work at this Waffle House know me although I don't talk to them much because I am always writing. I heard one mention me after she thought I had left. She referred to me as "the man who writes all the time." Not sure whom I am writing to or that I am saying anything that hasn't been said before. It just flows when it is ready. Being originally from Louisville, I used to go to the Kentucky Derby. I was always in the infield. During the roaring 60s, they let people bring booze into the infield. They would bring trash cans filled with beer. Everybody got drunk. People would be passed out on the ground, and you had to step over them. In the rest rooms, you had to wade through the pee to get to the urinals. They banned people from bringing their own alcohol in 1968. They had to. Things had gotten out of hand. I want to go to one more Derby and hang with the "celebrities." Richard Nixon came to the 1969 Derby. I was there with a friend and went to place a bet. When I returned, my friend was not to be found. Days later, he told me he got into a fight and landed in jail. While in jail, he met a man who was incarcerated because he pulled into an intersection and almost hit Nixon's limo. Maybe Mitt Romney will come to the Derby, and I will shake his hand. I saw Kennedy and Carter from a distance but never shook their hands. Pork chops are delicious, especially when they are seasoned with salt and pepper. They say meat is bad for you. I don't believe it. Vegetarianism is for Democrats.

I hope you can get to the Derby, Jim.

If not this year, in the near future.