I was twelve when my Dad handed me a copy of William Goldman's "The Princess Bride," in which the old immigrant Dad describes the story he's about to read his pneumonia-ridden son: "Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison..." he says. "True Love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad Men. Good Men. Beautifulest Ladies..." the old man continues. "Pain. Death. Brave Men. Coward Men. Strongest Men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles." He wasn't, but Goldman might as well have been describing the tunes I'd spin out, or try to, as a grown-up. If I've done it right, the answers to the question "What happens next?" are all here--or at least the questions, well-asked. Maybe the blind man makes it to the peak. Maybe the sheriff gets the gold. Maybe the ship makes the harbor. Maybe the boys come home from the war. And maybe not. Fables, these are. Anyway, most folks seem to think that a CD's (or a concert's) worth of time spent with me is a good ride. I hope you think so too, or at the very least can say, like little Billy Goldman, "Sounds okay, I'll do my best to stay awake..."