Listen up, you ingrates

My email box is jammed with your petty complaints.

Why aren't you posting more pictures? Whi-i-ine.

You said you would post more today. Sni-i-ivel.

But you pro-o-omised!

I've been working my ass off for you since Monday. For you. Not me. You.

For days I've been rehearsing, performing, chasing down bass players, borrowing gear, wecloming newcomers and--AND--blogging into the wee hours to bring highlights of the reunion to you lazy ingrates who stayed home to sit on your fat butts pointing your remote controllers at your big-frigging-screen televisions.

I did it for you. Not me. You.

Last night I closed down the bar, saying goodbye to the scores of my shipmates who have been working like active duty dogs to make this reunion a huge success. I was up until 0230, downloading files so I can continue to fill this site with photos and vivid prose.

For you. Not me. You.

I finally slept past 0500 this morning, halfway caught up on a week's worth of sleep, and turned on the computer. And what did I find?

Bitch. Moan. Whine. ComplainGrouseHarpSnivelSnivelSnivel.

Do you think this makes me want to ever again go through the hassle of taking pictures, interviewing, writing, editing and posting highlights of these reunions for the benefit of selfish SOBs like you--not me, you?

The answer is, emphatically, yes.

Thanks for writing. I really appreciate it. Yesterday, Navy Lyres received 83 visits from you, my shipmates, who couldn't get here in person. I hope I've helped to make you feel, at least a little bit, a part of the action. A lot of the talk during the week was about who's been in touch with you, what's going on in your lives and our hopes that we'll see you next year in San Antonio.

I have a backlog of stories to tell, photos to upload and things to say. It'll take some time. Truly, I'm wiped out, still at the hotel for one more night, recuperating, napping, searching out the java that has become so elusive now that the coffee mess is shut down.

Keep coming back. I promise to have more for you. Not me. You.

You bunch of self-centered skaters.