This was a crappy year on most fronts, for me. Had Barack Obama -- for whose campaign I worked in, I think, four cities -- not won, I don't know how I'd have kept it together.

Not that I did all that masterful a job. This was a harsh year. My dad had open heart surgery. Worked out, he's in great shape, but... What a gut check for us all.

Terry Adams called me to play at the Stone with him and Karen Mantler in January. That was nice. I finally got to play in a Robert Drasnin Voodoo performance, which was great not only for getting to do music with Bob and with the killing-good Alice Berry, whom I hadn't known before, but also to reconnect with Otto and Baby Doe, who I hadn't seen in quite some years, and with Lee Joseph, who is the best friend I only see annually. I got to give the speech for Bob's induction into the West Virginia Music Hall of Fame and see an audience in his home state give him a standing ovation, a moment that was pure magic and I almost cried. I was befriended in WV by some really excellent folks, not the least of which were Mona Seghatoleslami, who might be the nicest person who ever grew up in Jersey, and Ann Magnusson, who might be the nicest person I've met in showbiz. Oh yeah -- I got to play some with Peter Rowan while I was there. Oh yeah.

Chris Gaffney died, as did Larry Levine -- two guys I loved. Yma Sumac died. The incredible Edie Adams -- my first boss in LA -- passed as well, and the world is poorer for that.

Randy Newman made a great new record, and it might have been the only new album I bought all year (the Dylan doesn't count -- it's a comp).

Keith Pawlak assembled a student orch at UA Tucson and they played Les Baxter and Robert Drasnin. It was amazing to me to hear two people who mean so much to me performed with such care.

I put a good band together to play mostly up in Bakersfield. That said, finishing this goddam record is taking forever. Maybe Keith can produce the next one. He's getting shit done.

I've gotten to spend a bunch of time with the inspiringly maniacal Phil Alvin. I did Mike Watt's radio show, which was great. Watt is a national treasure, right up with Waffle House.

I came back to LA in June, after proving to myself by moving back to Philly (for about 14 months) that just because you can go home again doesn't mean it's a good idea. Then I moved back to LA for a girlfriend here. We were better off commuting. Every foray into romance staring with that I made ended up in such a briar patch that I needed Bactine. And there didn't seem to be any.

I settled for a time in Inglewood, babysitting my friend Lori's grandparents old house, and rediscovering the joys of living alone in the city. A cool thing to rediscover. And the house... amazing. I will miss this place, but the Valley beckons.

I will not mourn the passing of this year, much as I love my new president. It was a big cold shower of reality. Close friends died, others have had problems with the law, and ought-9 is emerging as a question mark behind which I don't see any gentle answers getting ready for their face time.