Ode to Gilligan (R.I.P. Bob Denver). When you stop to think about it, if it wasn't for Gilligan, we would've missed so much growing up. Some of the tunes that define, and have defined this band ("Dirty Girl", "Drew Barrymore") would never have made it to this songwriter's degenerate mind. In the late 70's Gilligan was rerun heaven every afternoon for a 13 year old Cuban boy from Tampa. My brother Richard and I would get home from school, kick off our topsiders, get a big bowl of Cap'n Crunch, and get ready for... GINGER! Whoa, what a redhead. The tenderloins of the Catholic schoolboy would never be the same. And if it wasn't for Gilligan and his merry mix-ups, the Professor's seaweed/coconut radio would've ended the series after a few short weeks. Episode after episode Gilligan would screw things up so efficiently, so "Gilligan" like, that we were assured more Ginger, more fire, more grrrr (oh, behave) for years to come. For those that didn't see what I saw in Ginger (or Maryann, when I was feeling less "animal", more "sensitive"), and hated Gilligan for screwing things up, I say back off. Two wrongs don't make a right BUT two Wrights make an airplane, and three rights make a left. The G man is probably hangin' out with Elvis, John Lennon, Jim Morrison, and the Skipper right now. Not bad company. Thanks little buddy. You did what you did well. In the end, that's all we can ask for. Take care. Later, Butch