When the times get tough and you begin to hit bottom, keep the faith: you must be living somebody else's dream. "Herman Cian's smoking ad, the Occupation movement, Prii and boots, a potential financial index relating to the height of women…

"Want to write a shout-out to Jimmy Six-Pence or Vic Swankly and let some of that off your chest for awhile? Don't think about it, just trust yourself to find it: it's your damn song, who's going to know if you messed it up. Drive on, Soldier…

"Remember that song you wrote about 25 different summer nights in Chico? Tin Pan Alley it and make sure you throw some Smiths references in there. You always loved Morrissey. You thought to call it 'Red Cups in the Kitchen' way before that Koby…

The story of a house of ill-repute that met a very bad end.

I wrote this song after seeing the man who almost killed me and not acting out all of my revenge fantasies. He was selling TVs at Costco.

I spend a night there once, I was dizzy with Hadrian's Blues.

A true story about a transcendent summer job I had with Scott Shoffner.

A story about a good-natured woman and a bunch of recent parolees from the state prison in Vacaville, California, on a Greyhound bus.

"THE Message?" My God.... THE Message? The Message, My MESSAGE After the beep? "Be kind to strangers, and even kinder to those you know and love. That was the best I could do, so now I have the Batman Blues."

The epic story of an orange fight at a Cal USC game that my family won in spectacular fashion.

Only the people with problems call after the decent have gone to sleep...

Whenever I am at a loss for words and I'm just not sure what to say, I think about how control is an illusion and I say "Ya-ta-hey."

If you ever drive on Interstate 5 in California, between Sacramento and WIlliams, you will drive by both Arbuckle and College City. This is their song.

I grew up in Redding, California. That part of Northern California is more like Alabama than it is San Francisco. Hence, it could be called "Calibama."

A true story from a rough week. The window into the soul of a man really does run through the contents of his stomach.

Don Bolles was a newspaper reporter who was killed in Phoenix, Arizona in 1976 while investigating a land deal that was closely tied to the Mafia. He was blown up in front of the Hotel Clarendon, and I had a scary experience at the same hotel…

After a brief hiatus out in the weeds, I found myself back on my own course, but what to do if the force knocks me off my horse and breaks the resolve of my frame to sustain?

A friend told me about this experience. I cannot name names but he insisted it was a true story. The "Phil" mentioned is not retired Senator from Texas "Phil Graham," I don't care what he says, he was not there: the evidence is conclusive.

This was an entirely improvised tune. The story kind of tells itself. Red wine and marijuana on the roof of the Hotel Vitale can lead to events that are no bueno. Blacking out behind the wheel is no bueno. Ingesting marijuana unknowingly in a…