It took around four hours to complete the Coral Gables transformation. The place now has a kind of Key West feeling. A three-day effort altogether — Saturday, Monday and today.

Last year two documentaries focused on the mid to late ’60s Laurel Canyon music scene — A.J. Eaton and Cameron Crowe‘s David Crosby: Remember My Name and Andrew Slater‘s Echo In The Canyon. Now comes a third doc on the same subject — Allison Ellwood‘s Laurel Canyon, a two-part EPIX doc airing on 5.31 and 6.7. Featuring “archival footage, never-before-seen footage and interviews with Jackson Browne, Bonnie Raitt, Linda Ronstadt, Don Henley, Michelle Phillips and others,” etc. Will there be a fourth? Ellwood’s previous doc credits include The Go-Go’s, American Jihad, History of the Eagles, Spring Broke and Magic Trip: Ken Kesey’s Search for a Kool Place.

I’d be lying if I said I’m not pleased with my new polka-dot face mask. Tatyana says it’s foolish because it’s not an N95-level mask; she says it’s for bank-robbing at best. Nonetheless it looks better than my white N95 masks (I have three or four) or the lightweight paper surgical masks I’ve been wearing for the last couple of weeks. Be honest — if you had a choice between a run-of-the-mill mask and this Bloomingdale’s variation, which would you wear as you walk your dog or hit the gas station or whatever?

A couple of days ago I stood up like Davy Crockett against Larry Karaszewski and his motley band of Nashville worshippers on Facebook. I held my ground, swinging Ol’ Betsy as General Santa Anna’s troops stormed and besieged. It’s so bizarre that accomplished people who know what they’re talking about have remained Nashville fans. My initial “Okay, The Nashville Jig Is Up” piece ran on 12.14.13. Why didn’t Steven Gaydos jump into this when musketballs were flying and gunpowder was short?

All along I’ve been wondering if HE commenter “James Woods” might be the Real McCoy. Well, he’s not, and that’s from the horse’s mouth. The imposter is hereby requested to change his handle immediately. If he doesn’t, I’ll cancel his ticket. He can call himself “Little Jimmy” or something in that vein. Fair warning.