Beginning

My life has an underlying Jimmy Buffet theme, like the soundtrack of a muddled dream.
I remember singing "Pencil Thin Moustache" as a kid in Florida, loving the happy go lucky sound.
My mom, a Rolling Stones junkie from "The City" (there's only one city~ New York with it's five boroughs and it's sixth, Miami Beach) expressed her disapproval. Chin dropped down to her neck, tiny eyes peering straight ahead almost through her eyebrows, elbow bent on the table, arm upright with her hand, which reminded me of a windshield wiper, moving a Marlboro back and forth from her lips, assured me that I was about to hear an opinion on the matter.
"He's for the squares, he has no soul, he's so Middle America"
Middle America was foulest curse in my mom's vocabulary. My love of Doris Day movies, wanton desire of Barbies, gender specified clothing and junk food all fell into this category. Mom wanted to change the world, I just wanted to be part of the collective reality of other kids my age.