WILMA! Are you kidding me? Another friggin' hurricane? It's hard to take this one seriously. Wilma? I'm thinking Freddie Flintstone yelling that he's home from the rock quarry. You know, Peebles' mom, redhead with pearls, prehistoric firebush. Hurricane? Maybe it's 'cause we're leaving town on Friday for the Georgia college gig, but I can't seem to get up for this one. Maybe it's because there have been so many this season and Florida has been pretty much spared. Who knows. What I do know is that that type of thinking will get you in trouble. It's the old "boy who cried wolf" thing that comes back to bite you in the arse. Hopefully all will be safe back home while we're gone. And we'll have homes to come back to. Speaking of homes, I think I sold mine but have not found a new one I like. Told you this would happen. I'll be homeless by mid November. As Paul Westerberg once sang, I'll be "a homeless-sexual". Take care. Be safe. Later, Butch