Love comes and goes, but being pretty good at something and enjoying what you do and making decent coin in the bargain is, I feel, almost damn near everything. Or close enough. The right gig fills you up and makes your cup runneth over every day. Breathless.

I honestly haven’t had a serious encounter with any kind of Frank Sinatra-styled gloom and loneliness since…the early ’90s? I was in a black pit after my divorce in ’91, mainly because the kids had moved up north and I had to get used to seeing them only on visits and whatnot. But I gradually sucked it in, and I began to light some candles and it all began to work out for the most part.

Yeah, I feel little spasms of regret these days from time to time, but they don’t last long enough to amount to anything. The only thing that really puts a cloud over my life is when something ugly happens on Twitter. Sinatra would’ve been great on Twitter. He would’ve bitchslapped those SJWs within an inch of their lives. He would’ve been brutal.