Could it be, Lucillus, that idleness is the mother of invention? And all our courage is really but the vapid certitude of an empty brain?
Is it Lucillus, idleness or perhaps even idolatry to some prior jitterling hatch, hashmark brain-graffiti that keep your hands from adept at your backgammon?
"Carl, watch Boxey and Odetta while I'm at the beach..."
Oh, Lucillus, what does any of it ever really mean? For instance, the Jazz Workshop album, nearly every piece copies the phrasing of Miles's Davis Quartet's Tune-up in the initial iterations.
Boxey and Odetta have some hot bar pizza, Sun Kist, and some other, and require sundry little care else, but to make sure they haven't been engulfed in any prairie fires, or anything like that, controlled burns and such, or that the dingoes don't carry them off.
