He was conceived during an autumn around the same time Puzo’s masterpiece became Americana, Tony Iommi developed the riff to revitalize an icon, Americans were paying the way for Chile’s Pinochet and a White House Dick was poring over how to salvage grace while plummeting from it.
After a wonderful union that resulted in such a bittersweet creation, he was raised in the northwest corner of the United States for the better part of 3 decades. Like a skinny Douglas Fir, he grew up swaying in the breeze, impervious to rain and thriving in cold, damp, windy winters and warm, showery, and at times, scorching summers.
Presently, this bucktooth, flat-tailed river rodent is spending his days and nights a few degrees closer to the equator, which allows him to swim in rooftop pools at 9 in the morning and not have to wear socks or long pants for months at a time.
All the while his hometown is in the grips of a “Deep Freeze Whiteout”, “Arctic Winter Smash”, or “Santa’s Shitstorm ’08” or whatever the local news calls a week of frigid temperatures where kids throw ice balls at the frostbitten homeless beneath park benches only to offer them hot soup afterwards in accordance with their community service conditions.
Oddly enough, part of said local traveler would love to be writing his name in the snow and laments not being able to enjoy the serene chill of quiet snowy nights but that particular individual is being soundly bamboo caned behind the poolside tiki bar as we speak.