I keep telling myself it can't be this easy! My wife Kathy and I, after fumbling about Philadelphia in search of the place, finally arrive for our dinner reservations at Sorrenno's restaurant, which houses the Tin Angel acoustic cafe, to find Pat DiNizio himself, seated just inside the place, finishing up his Chicken Paprikas. He smiles, and waves us over to him, with a handshake and a hug, and invites us to sit down at the table next to him. "I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you lately!" he notes, and he's right...it's the second weekend of Pat's first solo acoustic tour, and our first of four shows...more of a warm up, as we'll be hitting the road for three in a row in a week and a half, but there's an air of excitement, as we've never seen Pat play in this context. It's definitely a bare bones affair, Pat driving himself in an old brown station wagon, packing and unpacking his own equipment. We make a lot of small talk, and catching up, as it's been several months since we've seen each other, and even longer since we've had a chance to sit and chat. Pat proudly shows off the old vinyl treasures he's picked up at a small used record shop just down the block from the restaurant...mostly old jazz discs, though he notes he'd found a bunch of old Byrds albums at an earlier stop.

Pat's obviously enjoying this outing. He enthusiastically talks of the night before, in Asbury Park, which turned into mostly a "request night," as nobody'd thought to actually write down a set-list. "We were doing stuff like Black Sabbath's "Paranoid," and REM's "Talk About The Passion!" He plans to take the same route tonight, no set list, just whatever comes to mind, and whatever the audience shouts for. With this, he bids us a temporary goodbye, as he retreats upstairs to the club for his soundcheck, and we turn our attention to the restaurant's menu...funny, I don't recognize anything here that I've ever tasted in my entire life experience. The waitress shows us the day's specials, and I recognize the word "chicken," so I elect to go with that. Fortunately, it actually turns out to be a flavorful and enjoyable meal, and a damn good cup of coffee, too!

We make our way upstairs to the Tin Angel, past autographed photos of some of the performers who've been there before. I note pictures of Al "Year Of The Cat" Stewart, Peter Tork of the Monkees, and Roseanne Cash, as well as a host of lesser known, but still familiar faces. Inside, the club turns out to be a tiny room, holding less than a hundred patrons, with a square 8X8 foot stage at one end of the room, and a bar at the other. We take seats at the side of the stage, on a row of chairs, right at ring-side. This seems like as good a time as any to make use of the club's facilities, so I enter one of two unisex bathrooms, and notice that the water level on the toilet is a little higher than usual. This of course, throws up a red flag that the thing is blocked, so of course, I did what anybody would do... I flushed! As the water flowed up over the bowl, and onto the floor, I casually retreated, so as not to call attention to myself, moved to the next bathroom to take care of business, and walked to the bar to inform management that their first bathroom was flooded!

As I look around the room, waiting for the show to start, I think I see a couple of familiar faces towards the back, one of which I was expecting, but the other...no, it can't be! Must be seeing things, and it's too late to investigate, as the lights have just gone down, and Pat's climbing onstage, carrying his orange Gretsch "Rancher" acoustic guitar...the one you see him playing in the Smithereens' "Yesterday Girl" video. Oddly, nobody applauds Pat's appearance...instead a chorus of "hello's" and greetings rises, and Pat says "Okay, let's stop being so serious!" The stage lights go up, the audience finally applauds, and Pat starts things up with Blow Up's "Over And Over Again."

True to his word, Pat announces that he's taking requests, and the usual suspects get the first few shouts. Pat keeps listening, waiting to hear a title that moves him enough to want to play it, and finally settles on "Blue Period." Upon its conclusion, he looks over at me and asks what I want to hear. I go with a song I've been doing in my own acoustic performances lately, "If The Sun Doesn't Shine", from Green Thoughts. Pat thinks for a moment, and says "okay," as he tries to remember the chords to the song. I shout them to him: "G, F and D, Pat!" He explains to the audience that he hasn't performed the song since it was recorded, as when the Smithereens did it, the arrangement and recording of it, inspired by Brian Wilson's production, was so complex that they never played the song live. Stripped of it's Beach Boy-inspired bells and whistles, the song still shimmers, and Kathy and I exchange knowing glances at each other, as this has always been a sentimental favorite song of ours, dating back to our first days as a couple.

...And the hits just keep on coming: "Too Much Passion," "Only A Memory," "House We Used To Live In," "Top Of The Pops." Pat responds to the shouts for the usual favorites, and manages to slip in a few lesser-known songs, like "Afternoon Tea," "Alone At Midnight," and "Everything I Have Is Blue," which sounds oddly right, even stripped of it's album version's distorted electricity. One patron calls for Blow Up's "Tell Me When Did Things Go So Wrong?" Pat chuckles and answers, "About four years ago, when we signed to RCA!" Pat miraculously avoids playing "Cigarette" and "A Girl Like You" tonight, ignoring the shouts for them (who can blame him...he's played them at every show he's done for the last eight years!), though he does comply with the most obvious request, noting that "Eventually, somebody always gets around to asking for "Blood And Roses." A shout for something by Elvis Costello is met with a aborted try at "What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love And Understanding," and an audience singalong of "Alison." After a quick take of the Beatles' "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away," Pat again looks in my direction and asks, "Now what do I do?" I think for a minute, and suggest one of my favorites from "The Great Lost Smithereens Album," A Date With The Smithereens. As he contemplates playing "Long Way Back Again," Pat tells the audience that "My friend Richie from Lebanon wants to hear this song about the world's first female serial killer..." and with that, he points to me and shouts, "...and if it sucks, it's your fault!." Fortunately for me, it doesn't.

To close the show, Pat picks up his battered John Lennon-style black Rickenbacker, fires up the John Fogerty-tremolo on his tiny Ampeg amp, and blasts through the dirtiest, meanest sounding version of "Behind The Wall Of Sleep" that you can imagine. If such a thing is possible, Pat's solo version is even heavier than the Smithereens' full band arrangement. After a short wait, Pat returns, picks up the Gretsch, and begins strumming chords, looking at me to see if I recognize what he's playing. I don't at first, but I'm delighted when it turns out to be "Strangers When We Meet." With that, Pat bids the audience good night.

As the lights go up, I decide to check on those familiar faces I'd noticed just before the show started. I find good old Frank McGuire, just as I'd expected, and we exchange greetings for a second, when suddenly, there he is, unbelievably... It's Dave Persails, all the way from Houston, courtesy of the President's quashing of the American Airlines pilot strike. The three "Fabulous Smithereens Brothers" are back together again! I'm temporarily speechless..."How...how did...huh?"

Pat emerges from the dressing room to mingle with those of us remaining in the club. He sits down with us, to marvel at a fan's Smithereens tape-trading list.. He whispers to me, "I've got tapes that'd blow him away!" Considering that Pat is an actual Smithereen, I don't find this surprising. We've all heard by now of Pat's impending solo deal and album, to be recorded the following April, with Don Dixon producing. Ringo's son Zak Starkey was originally slated to play on the album, but had since dropped out, to be replaced by drummer Tony Williams, who's probably best known for playing with Miles Davis, though Pat notes that "The last thing he wants to do right now is another jazz album." Pat talks about the bare-bones feel he's looking for in these sessions...similar to the sound of John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band album, though I privately hope Pat eschews the primal screams of that disc. He seems adamant that the Smithereens are going to continue, despite all the solo activity, and makes sure that everybody knows it, yet he's also obviously looking forward to the artistic freedom that his solo album will give him.

Pat announces that it's time to pack up, and hit the road, and McGuire, Persails, Philly Photographer Mitch Berger and I volunteer to be roadies for the evening, and the guys each pick up a guitar, mic stand and Pat's amp, and make their way down the stairs. When I get through to the dressing area, Pat points me to a large orange heavy duty Anvill case with not one, but two expensive, delicate Taylor guitars inside...bloody heavy, and valuable enough, that I'm especially ginger about getting it down the steps, across the street, and into the parking lot where Pat's station wagon is parked. Coincidentally, it's the same lot where I've parked my own car, and I joke about putting the case in my car instead. Pat packs up, and Mitch gets out his camera for a few shots of Pat sitting on the hood of the wagon, and for some photos of all of us, as a souvenir of the evening. A quick stop for coffee to go, and we'll be on our way.

The next time I'll see Pat will be on my own home turf, but as I drive home through the predicted snow squalls on the PA Turnpike, I keep thinking to myself, it's going to be a long week and a half wait.

Club Zee's, Camp Hill, PA. Wednesday, February 26, 1997

I wake this morning full of excitement for the official start of our road trip, only to have a pall cast on the whole thing, with the news that drummer Tony Williams, whom Pat had lined up as the drummer for his solo project, died of a heart attack over the weekend. Pat is noticeably shocked, as Williams has always been one of his musical inspirations, who's career he's followed for years. It was long Pat's dream to play with him, and to have that dream seem so close to coming true, only to be taken away so suddenly seems incredibly cruel. The fact that Pat will now have to find a replacement drummer seems moot at this point. I really feel bad for him.

Still, the show must go on, and Pat is in generally good spirits as he invites Kathy and I into the club to watch the soundcheck. The staff are chuckling to themselves, because Pat's show is advertised as "solo acoustic," and he's been playing his distorted, electric Rickenbacker for about 10 minutes now, trying to get that "Everything I Have Is Blue" crunch just right. Finally, he looks up, smiles, and says "That's the way it sounds on the record!. With that, he takes off the guitar, and knowing my fondness for Rickenbackers, walks over to the edge of the stage, and hands it to me. For a Smithereens fan, it's like being handed the Holy Grail. I cradle and strum it for a good hour. Meanwhile, Pat sits down across from me, writes out a set list, which he will later ignore, and watches the Grammy awards on a big screen TV along the wall, pointing out some of the faces in the auditorium that he's met, or worked with. Once in awhile, we play a game called "Who's That?" when an unfamiliar face appears on screen.

I'm getting a little worried, because though the doors opened at 8pm, the only patrons to walk in so far are Gail and Steve Molinari, our front line buddies from Maryland, which at this point brings the grand audience total to four. Pat could have set up in my living room for that! Still, it's two hours to showtime, plenty of time for Camp Hill to arrive...perhaps they've just stopped for coffee on the way.

9pm rolls around, and Pat asks if I'd like to hear some of the rough demos he's working on for his solo album. Of course, I follow him outside to the station wagon, sarcastically thinking to myself that I hate to miss Beck on the Grammy's, but, what the heck, let's go listen. Pat's tape features about 6 new songs, very rough, only acoustic guitar and vocals, sequenced more or less the way he plans to place them on the finished album. The first song on the tape features Pat wailing almost randomly, accompanied only by an occasional strum of the guitar...a bizarre prelude, that'll likely have listeners scratching their heads going "What the hell is he doing?"...just the way Pat wants it! The demos are typical DiNizio songwriting, though perhaps not songs you could hear the Smithereens working up. There are pop songs, rockers, uncharacteristic ballads, and even a melancholy lullaby to his daughter...all good songs, and a couple that are really outstanding. Pat really seems to believe in these songs, singing along, explaining what he has in mind for the finished track, and playing air drums to show me what kind of rhythm he wants. As I listened appreciatively, throwing in a suggestion here or there, I couldn't help but think, "How the hell did I get here? Last thing I remember, I was sitting in my mom's parlor rocking chair, listening to Green Thoughts for the first time, and now all of a sudden, I'm in Pat DiNizio's station wagon, listening to demos!"

We return to find that Camp Hill has finally arrived! All fifteen of them, bringing the total attendance to 19. Undaunted, Pat climbs onstage, picks up one of the Gretsch's, and breaks into REM's "Talk About The Passion," marred by a crackling patch cord, which the house sound man attempts to fix mid-song. As he has in the past, Pat asks for requests, and a call for "Cigarette" comes. After obliging, Pat laughs and says, "I'm so f-ing sick of that one!" The audience laughs and the fellow who requested the song in the first place suggests that Pat do one he likes. Pat replies "I like this one!" as he starts up "House We Used To Live In." Pat's show tonight is loose and ragged, and I sense he's not happy with his performance, but we urge him on, and as he settles down, he starts to have fun. A surprise is a performance of "Tracey's World," which he dedicates to me, saying "Richie wanted to hear that one." While I don't particularly remember asking about that one, I appreciate it just the same. My having finally, reluctantly given it back to him, Pat straps on the Rickenbacker for an electric shot at "Afternoon Tea." Mid song, Pat drops his pick, and unfortunately, all of his spares are behind him on his amp, out of reach. He does his best with just his fingers, while I rummage through my wallet for one of my Smithereens' souvenir picks from a previous tour. I hand it to him, he grabs it, and continues the song. Electric versions of "Behind The Wall Of Sleep" and "Everything I Have Is Blue" follow. Pat again picks up the acoustic for a nice run-through of "If The Sun Doesn't Shine," when his B-string breaks...what else can happen? Well, for one thing, that souvenir pick I handed him a while back cracks in half, and he's back playing with his fingers, while I check my wallet for another pick...he'll have to settle for one of Jimmy Babjak's, it's the only one I have left that's a "light."

Unfortunately, the worst is yet to come, as Pat wraps up his show with the obligatory "A Girl Like You." As the song begins, an incredibly inebriated patron, wearing a tie-dye t-shirt and ripped jeans, drinking beer straight out of the pitcher, runs up to the stage, stands in front of Pat, getting right up in his face, yelling the lyrics along with him. When Pat ignores him, he tries to get our table to join him on the dance floor, and as none of us are drunk enough, nor stupid enough to do so, he berates us for our lack of enthusiasm. Club Zee's security elect to keep to themselves through all this. I can see why Pat was hoping to be booked into coffeehouses for this tour, alcohol is a dangerous thing in the hands of places like Camp Hill.

Again, we are pressed into service as roadies, packing up Pat's guitars and equipment while he autographs posters for the audience ("Mr. Dynamite!" they say...). Finally, the club empties out and Pat finally gets a chance at his first meal of the day, while I scribble out a copy of the directions I've been given to tomorrow night's gig in Scranton for him. We all pick up the equipment, and head out to the station wagon. As we load up, Pat says, "Gigs like this really build your character." Maybe so, but bad or good, one of the audience members, a fellow named Chuck, made me promise to tell Pat that "he kicked ass!"

Tink's, Scranton, PA. Thursday, February 27, 1997

Walking on Linden Road towards tonight's venue, I'm not sure what to expect. The last time I was at Tink's was during the Smithereens' infamous "Reechie Tour" in November of '95, when the guys played to an almost painfully (especially to those of us in the front lines!) packed crowd, on a small stage with a big pole in the middle, smack dab in front of Dennis Diken. We're early, and I wonder if the club is still closed, but I hear Pat again getting that crunch sound just right on the Rickenbacker, and the door is open, so in we go. Nobody at the door is taking admission yet, and there are patrons at the bar as Pat strums. I quietly watch him from the side, and as he finally gets the sound right, I repeat to him his words of the previous night: "That's the way it sounds on the record!" Pat looks up and smiles, motions us to come on in. I'm quite happy to see tables and chairs set up for tonight's performance, and after we plop ourselves down front, Kathy leaves in search of java. Pat picks up one of his Gretsch acoustics, and tries to get the sound right on that one as well. He's trying something new tonight, patching the acoustics through his Rat pedal fuzz box, the same device that gives his Fender Stratocaster it's snarl at your average Smithereens' concert, so that he can give certain songs a little extra bite. Now and then, he plucks out a familiar riff or two, glancing up at me with a grin to see if I recognize it. I sing out a line of McCartney's "That Would Be Something" with him, as close to a duet with Pat as I've come so far, and as Kathy returns with the coffee, he breaks into a bit of Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper." Later, Pat plays a tender acoustic ballad that I soon recognize as one of the tunes he played for me on his demo tape last night. This one's going to surprise a lot of people when it comes out, it's not your usual, characteristic DiNizio song. I mention this to Kathy, and she nods in approval. As he begins another of his new songs, I ask Pat why he isn't playing more of them during the shows. He replies, "I'm scared to death to!" This surprises me, especially as he's been playing one of the songs that I found most outstanding on the demo tape, a mid-tempo rocker with the hook-line "You should know...you should know by now..." How can he be afraid to play a song as good as this? It makes me think of how I feel about my own songwriting tries, and my own fears of performing my songs....you mean to tell me you never lose that? Pat says he may try out a few new ones tomorrow night in Baltimore, where a bunch of friends and familiar faces have promised to attend.

I notice that Pat hasn't changed that broken B-string from last night, and I mention this to him. "Yeah, they all need to be changed" he replies, with a bit of dread in his voice. The guitar lover in me senses a golden opportunity, and I volunteer to take care of the chore, giving me a close up look at those orange beauties I've been drooling over since I saw Pat play one in the "Yesterday Girl" video. Pat retreats to the upstairs "green room" of the club, and the stage lights are turned off, making my job a little harder, but I soldier on. While I'm doing this, the club's sound man climbs onstage and starts fiddling with the knobs that Pat has just set to his liking. This will later come back to haunt Pat during the show, but I'm too busy with the Gretsch's to be aware of what's going on at the time.

Eventually, I finish my work, and get a chance to relax, and check out the club itself. Much has changed since the last time we were here. The "skeletons in a boat" motif is gone, replaced by black lights and florescent painted toys hung from the ceiling...a little yellow monkey directly above me fascinates me all night for some reason, to the point where I wind up taking a picture of it for posterity! Kathy orders an unusual hazelnut drink, and when it arrives, the black lights give it a strange shade of green, kind of like something Luke Skywalker drank in Star Wars! She takes it to a better-lit area to check that this isn't the drink's natural color, and decides that it's safe to ingest. I take a quick trip to the rest rooms, and am delighted to note that Bela Lugosi's picture still hangs just outside the men's room...some things never change!

Last night's lack of crowd has me worried about tonight, and as showtime approaches, there's certainly no fear of being crushed like last time, but I'm glad to see that Pat has attracted at least 50 to 60 people. I'm even more delighted when Pat takes the stage, to find that most of them know the words, and seem familiar with his work. From the start, Pat's performance is superb, he's confident, relaxed, and in good voice. The Rat pedal idea works out great, Pat is able to give a little extra crunch to certain songs, and return to a more subdued acoustic sound at the touch of a button. He even tries out the new "Everyday World," and has the audience singing along with "124 Miles An Hour," even though the words aren't nearly finished. He's in dazzling form, more than making up for the night before.

As Pat plays "Girl In Room 12," another string breaks, and he switches to the Rickenbacker to start the song over. Only problem is, something's just not right. Though Pat spent 15 minutes getting the sound the way he wanted it, one minute of fiddling by the club's sound man earlier has made the Rick sound weak and dull. He sticks with it, hoping he can figure out the problem, but after four songs, he gives up, and goes to his backup Gretsch to finish out the show. A surprising encore features the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated," and Black Sabbath's "Paranoid, " which works better on acoustic guitars than you may think (especially when you add a Rat pedal!).

After the show, Kathy and I get back into roadie mode, packing up as Pat mingles with a group of die-hard Smithereens fans, one of whom seems to have brought his entire collection of CD's and albums for Pat to sign, which he gladly does. Just before we go, Pat has one more job for me, and I follow him upstairs to the club's "green room," where I dutifully conceal the two bottles of Evian water, and 4 cans of cola that Pat asks me to smuggle out for him, for the road.

As we pack up, we all discover that Pat is staying at the same hotel as we are, just a couple of doors down, and Pat offers up a ride back to our accommodations. When we get there, Pat invites us in to his room for a couple of minutes, to show off some of the used cassettes he'd picked up earlier in the day. Out of print tapes from the Blasters, Karla Bonoff and Los Lobos, and a couple of old Capitol Beatles tapes that went out of print when the British albums came out on CD...Pat says he likes albums like Beatles VI, and the USA Help! soundtrack better than their British counterparts, because those are the versions he grew up with. Pat had also made a stop into a local music store, and while there, had purchased a jaw harp (one of those little pieces of metal that goes "boing!"), with Snoopy on the box, to give to his daughter. Unfortunately, when he bought it, he thought it was a harmonica, and as the jaw harp didn't seem like something appropriate for a little girl, Pat offered it to Kathy and I...Kathy, because she liked the Snoopy box, and me, because I actually knew how to play the thing. Of course, I was touched by Pat's gesture, but I felt a little bad about taking a toy that was meant for his daughter...something I made plans to correct in the morning.

By now, it was getting close to 1AM, and for someone on a normal time schedule, the day was long winding down. Pat had other ideas however, he was ready to get on the move. He'd decided not to stay in his hotel overnight, but instead, fire up the station wagon, get on the road where he could do some serious tape listening and thinking, and head out, at least part of the way, to Baltimore for Friday night's show. This concerned me at first, as I knew how tired I felt, but then I remembered all those e-mails I'd gotten from Pat with a 3AM time attached to them. He's obviously used to late night drives, so Kathy and I helped pack up his belongings, and gave him a hug each. As he closed the hatch, he drew a little smiley face in the dust on the window, wrote the word "Pat" next to it, and was off again.

8 X 10, Baltimore, MD. Friday, February 28, 1997

It's been a long day of driving, and touring is starting to take its toll on me. I've been dragging myself around today, and it shows. Walking towards the 8 X 10 club, I locate Pat's station wagon, and notice that his little drawing is still present on the hatch...kind of a dead giveaway as to who's car it is! I'm later told that Pat made it all but forty miles to his destination last night, in under two hours, before finally deciding to stop for the night. This of course, means that Pat was booking pretty well up I-81 ("124 Miles An Hour?"), which makes me wonder if he's responsible for the heavy police presence on the interstate when I finally hit the road in the morning. He's here safely, thank goodness, and so is Karen, ace Smithereens Fan Club co-president, who greets me with a hug. She's one of many friends here to support Pat tonight. Though from New Jersey, for some reason Pat and the Smithereens have a large and devoted following in the Baltimore/DC area. Many fan club members are here as well, and I'm delighted to find that many of them know my name from my writings for the fan club publication, Reen Thoughts, though my tired and dour expression and manner surely give a few folks the impression that I'm a rather quiet and grouchy person. (Ah, if only you knew...). Pat pokes his head out of the club, catches sight of me, and shouts "Ah, you made it!" then walks over for a quick hug, and to check in with Karen. With so many fans and friends attending, there won't be much time to pal around with Pat tonight, and he won't need our services as roadies either, which is a bit of a shock at first, as I'm getting used to the intimacy. However, we've had more than our share of Pat's time this week, it's time to step back and give someone else a chance.

The infamous Smithereens' "front line" is reunited for this evening (Kathy and I, Gail and Steve Molinari, and John and Melissa Palmer), and to celebrate, Kathy has painted big floppy yellow T-shirts with caricatures of the band for all of us. We either look like the meekest security force in the world, or the biggest bunch of fan-boys ever to hit Baltimore...there isn't time to decide, as it's an early show, and Pat is already hitting the stage at 7:30PM.

After last night's problems with the Rickenbacker's sound, Pat has decided not to bother with it tonight, and it remains in its case. The Gretsch/Rat pedal combo returns, however, and Pat gets a lusty cheer from the crowd every time he hits the distortion. There's not much room for Pat to work with tonight. A full band, plus opening act, are slated to go on at 10PM, and their equipment leaves the stage rather cramped, to the point where Pat is forced to stand for the entire show. Over 100 people are in the place, easily the largest crowd of the week. Pat's friends are quite vocal, especially one Nestor Aparicio, a local sports talk radio celebrity, who asks...no, begs (all but down on his knees!) with Pat to play Jim Babjak's "Now And Then." Up until now, when asked to perform a Babjak song, Pat has politely declined, but apparently this Nestor guy has a bit of pull, and lo and behold, Pat gives it a try! He doesn't do too badly with it, either, despite forgetting a few words (and looking down at me for help with them!). As promised the night before, Pat tries out a few new songs, including "124 Miles An Hour," "Everyday World," and "A World Apart" (though my pleas for "You Should Know By Now" go unheard), and Pat even runs through Springsteen's "Downbound Train," just recorded by the Smithereens for a Broooce tribute album, only the second time on the whole tour that he's played it. Afterwards, he praises Mike Mesaros' production work on the track. Pat stops "Sick Of Seattle" after one verse, saying, "It's not really topical anymore, is it?" He later makes up for it with a line of the Threetles "Free As A Bird" before complying with yet another request for "Cigarette." Pat plays for a long time, about a half hour longer than at any other show that week. At the very least, one of the best shows of the tour, and Pat's favorite show of the week.

With so many people at the club, I knew there wouldn't be much time for talk with Pat, but I did have one last bit of business to take care of before parting ways with him. When Pat finally emerged to briefly schmooze with the remaining crowd, I was able to get him alone for a moment, in a corner of the club, and hand him a new, shiny red harmonica to give to his daughter, to replace the jaw harp he'd given us the night before. He seemed pleased with it, saying "She likes red!" One last hug for Kathy and I, and he was gone again, off to dinner with Nestor and friends. For me, at least, the tour was officially over.

EPILOGUE (...a Quinn Martin Production)

A week later, and back to the real world, I'm surprised at all I've learned over the three days I spent touring with Pat DiNizio. I learned that hauling amps, guitar cases, and changing strings is incredibly therapeutic, and stress-busting. I returned to work the following Monday with a fresh outlook, and though that didn't last too long, I had pleasant thoughts of the week before to carry me through to the weekend. I learned that no matter how long you've been writing songs, nor how successful you've been at it, you're never quite sure if the new one is going to work...a thought that has me wondering if maybe some of those songs I've been working on might just be better than I think they are. I've learned that in a world of 72 track digital recording, there's still something to be said about the simplicity of a four track demo, which has me working on a few of my own. I've learned that I'm pretty sick of hearing "Cigarette," too! Most importantly, I learned that a true professional gives his all to his audience, be they twenty, or twenty-thousand strong. I only hope I can live up to Pat's examples as I do my own performances in the future. Pat, and all of the Smithereens for that matter, continue to inspire me, in ways I never dreamed possible. I'm truly privileged to be involved with them, and I'll gladly change Pat's strings again, any time he needs it done.