It's a rainy day in Tampa. I like rainy days, unless I had outdoor activities planned (either a gig or a ball game. Not the D Rays though, they play in that crappy dome). What's the deal with rainy days, and rain in particular anyway? I can see the metaphor for tears. The sky has "cried" in many a blues song, but why does it depress folks so much. You know the talk of Seattle, rain, and suicide. Why am I different? I know there are others like me who like a rainy day every so often (Eddie Rabbit, for one). If you've read this blog for some time, you know how I feel about sleep. And nothin' beats sleeping while it's raining outside. The beautiful song of the rain hitting the window puts you right to sleep. It's a natural live gig of one of those "sounds of the rain forrest" CD's that massage people play when they're giving you the rub down. (That sounded dirty.) Rain. Little Johnny wanted it to go away so he could play. I guess he wasn't in a band. I guess he didn't need time to sleep and turn off his brain for awhile. I guess that's it. Rain helps to relax me. It's a huge shower to put your head under, though I don't really like getting wet. Sometimes when you get the seat of your pants wet and then have to sit for awhile, you get itchy bum. And that totally sucks. But it is nice letting the shower hit you on the head in the AM, so I guess the sky "crying" is a nice metaphor, for me "the big shower hitting the soul". Take care. Later, Butch