Bring it to New York BITCH !

Saluting "Brute" Krulak

“Being ready is not what matters.  What matters is winning after you get there.”

- Victor “Brute” Krulak

 

Victor Krulak lived from 1913 to 2008.  He saw action in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam.  He was a highly decorated marine that hoped to become the next Commandant of the Marine Corps.  Unfortunately, in 1968 President Lyndon Johnson chose someone else, so Krulak retired on the spot.

Historians have said Krulak’s prior comments to President Johnson criticizing the restraints placed on American military operations in Viet Nam resulted in his being passed over for the post.  For expressing those opinions, I just saluted his picture.

p.s. – Victor Krulak’s son Charles Krulak became the 31^st Commandant of the Marine Corps serving that post from 1995 to 1999. 

That is one bad ass gene pool.

Veteran's Day Tribute to a Warrior

Luckily when I make mistakes as a trader, nobody gets shot at or killed.

I experienced a light mental ambush when I heard ECB President Jean Claude Trichet say that he didn’t believe the US was devaluing its currency.  I calculated, as dollar bulls were capitulating around me, that Trichet had just cleared the path for further dollar debasement and Euro appreciation, knowing full well about the battles his currency was about to face.  Obviously there is dissension among his ranks and holes in his armor.  I thought I heard him shouting – “BERNANKE – TAKE ‘em OVER THE HILLTOPS!!” but it wasn’t quite clear with rockets going off all around me.  I thought we should be prepared for the Battle of €1.45. 

As it turns out the inherent issues in Europe have already manifest themselves with Portugal and Ireland trading record spreads from Germany on a daily basis, and the currency has gotten slaughtered.  If it were war my troops wouldn’t have lived to see the light of day.  But it’s only Wall Street where men come to compete at different levels every day.  I get to live through all of those mistakes and keep trying my best.

On the right you will notice that the first man I pay tribute to is the warrior for having vastly more courage than I do and for protecting my way of life.  At a time when the freedom to pursue your dream and the right to life are becoming more and more precious – we damn sure ought to take the time to honor these guys on VETERAN’S DAY.  The lazy bond market and clumsily suited bankers get the day off today but merchants and warriors of trade are at their desks trying to make sense of global markets.  If any of us had the courage and valor of a Staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta in this business – they’d probably have been able to retire a long time ago. 

Sergeant Giunta, is 25 years old and the first living recipient of the Medal of Honor – the highest accolade in our military system.  In operation “ROCK AVALANCHE”, in an Afghan mountain ridge, his platoon walked into an L-shaped ambush where, as he put it, “There were more bullets in the air than stars in the sky” and they were being ferociously attacked at close range.  His team was split up and Giunta began following his instinct – “I didn’t have time to think at all, and I didn’t even think about having to think – we were just going.”  During the battle his buddy Josh Brennan went unaccounted for but Giunta had to press on.  By the light of the moon he noticed two of the enemy carrying Brennan away.  He shot one of them in the head, wounded the other, and eventually got Brennan airlifted out of the fierce battle, comforting his friend with eight bullet holes in his body “Dude, this time you’re really going home.”

Salvatore Giunta’s buddy Josh Brennan died the next day at a U.S. military base and shortly after receiving his medal of honor Giunta accepted no credit, rather reminded everyone of the valor of his fallen comrades.

“Every single person that I’ve been with deserves to wear it, deserves to…They are just as much of me as I am.  This isn’t a one man show.”

Be a patriot, be a leader, and be a good teammate at your job and in life but most of all be thankful to our warriors today.  Protecting our cozy way of life isn’t a one man show.  It takes thousands of men like Salvatore Giunta.

Gimme the Gas'

Gaslight Anthem had their first shot at a big time venue Thursday night, September 30th, and they knocked it out of the Music Hall with passion, pace, and a certain musical humility, if there is such a thing in rock n’ roll. When your lead singer introduces the final encore with - "This is the coolest thing we've ever done. I thought I was going to be a gas station attendant.” – you know the band is over the moon about playing Radio City. 

I’ve been listening to Gaslight since their album The ’59 Sound came out in 2008.  If you don’t own it, in trade speak, you’re “short 59 SOUND" and it is rallying.   Start to finish the album takes you on a tour of what the band is all about which is good old fashioned punky rock n' roll.  Pair that with their equally well rounded follow up American Slang, and I've got a reason to be talking about these musicians on the cusp of greatness.  Slang packs that patriotic 'tude that we need more of and doesn't hesitate to genuflect toward the Big Apple in what may be their most impactful chant life to date The Queen of Lower Chelsea.  

Did you grow up a good girl, 

Your daddy's pride?

Did you make all the right moves,

Take all the right drugs right on time?

American girls, they want the whole world

They want every last little light in New York City.

Gaslight does nothing fancy.  They are a garage band operation on the order of Kings of Leon.  They employ the time tested rock formula of singer, guitars, base & drums, they just do it a lot better than most.  Their recipe for success is taking a tremendous amount of passion and firing out to crowd via lead singer Brian Fallon.  The band can bang chords and they will make you stomp your feet to the beat but Brian, like all great lead singers, puts the band into the next class.

Let's get this out of the way now - the comparisons to Bruce Springsteen, whom I vehemently detest, need to stop and they need to stop immediately.  A good band can’t come from New Jersey without Bruce intervening to give them his stamp of approval, a chance they can't refuse to warm up for him, and a cameo on stage at one of their shows.  Gaslight guitarist Alex Rosamilia adds a consistent ability to resurrect anthem type riffs from the same old guitar chords and packs more personality into hammering his E string than the entire E Street Band throws off in a concert tour.  Fallon has pride in Gaslight Anthem and he didn't miss an opportunity to respectfully comment on the incessant references to the Puss', I mean the Boss - “I think it’s one of those things we’re gonna have to wear until it wears out.”  Believe me, he’s none too happy that the music press has him living in Springsteen’s shadow and he doesn’t deserve to any longer.  If you need comparison bands for Gaslight Anthem - try Third Eye Blind, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Green Day, or Social Distortion on for size.  What separates Brian from Bruce is that Brian can actually sing and he's James Dean cool.

On Thursday night they covered some of their best stuff like Old White Lincoln, Miles Davis and the Cool, and I'da Called You Woody Joe in a one hour set of 17 songs, and then came out and blew everyone away with a 7 song encore that included American Slang, The Patient Ferris Wheel, a trippy version of The Queen of Lower Chelsea, and a powerful Backseat to close it.  The crowd was jumping from the get go until the house lights went on, the buzzes were big, and that's how it's supposed to go the first time you play Radio City Music Hall. 

They were a sight to behold on their big night in New York, and even though they hail from across the Hudson in the swamps of Jersey, I'm happy for them anyway.

After all, they're an American band.

I've never felt so strange
Standing in the pounding rain
Thinking about what my mother once said
MAYBE I SHOULD CALL ME AN AMBULANCE

Bring Back the Spartans

The SEC is finally waking up to the fact that with all of their attempts to “level the playing field” in equities between the retail investor and the industry professional with their adjustments to market structure - they have actually decimated it. If you jockey stocks for a living and want to get your blood boiling then check out the following link highlighting SEC Chairman Mary Shapiro's recent presentation to the Economic Club of New York (sounds like a really fun group).

Here’s the link: SEC Chief Schapiro Talks About Market Structure, ‘Flash Crash’

Mary tries to casually pass off, as if it just sort of happened, that the NYSE only executes 26% of the volume in their names, and that the rest of the trading is split (I’d argue splintered) among 10 public exchanges, more than 30 dark pools, and over 200 broker dealers. In other words – traders fly blind now. Viable counter-parties have their backs to each other in a dark room and they are blindfolded and gagged. It is no wonder they can't find each other.

Mary casually pointed out that 30% of the volume in US equities is executed in a black hole, I mean, “venues that do not display their liquidity or make it generally available to the public” as she more eloquently put it. How are you supposed to find liquidity, know if there is liquidity, or keep track of what's actually transacting?

Permitting this lack of market transparency is exactly what has enabled all of the splintering. Investment banks had a massive role in doing away with both open outcry on the Mercantile Exchange and the specialist system on the NYSE so that they could bring more execution profit upstairs under the guise of “market efficiency.” Now that they’ve done that, we’re all left trying to navigate a market dominated by high frequency traders (HFT’s), quote stuffers, layerers, and undisguised market manipulators. Every quote in a supposedly liquid stock is represented by BATS, ARCA, NSDQ, NYSE, EDGX, CINN, FLOW, NQBX, and CBSX and it’s all a mirage when you try to trade.

Quotes that HFT’s stuff with orders are meant to look like liquidity but they’re actually set up to make you think that there are more buyers or sellers than there really are. They are a con, just like Henry Gondorff and Johnny Hooker in The Sting. They are also the reason that stocks now trade 100 shares at a time and most participants are more than happy to trade when the other guy trades, even if it’s at a slightly worse price. We have been transformed from bold staple eating traders into sheep.

Look at Walgreen on Tuesday, September 28th.  WAG traded 31.7 million shares as it rallied  14% on earnings.  The biggest print, outside of the 356,192 share NYSE opening and the 299,646 NYSE close, of course, was 150,000 shares and that was one of THREE six figure prints in the third market.  I'll let you fantasize about how many 100 share prints you could have chased up that range.

Everyone is a "go along" trader. Nobody bids and offers at a price. Block trades are few and far between because nobody knows where the bodies lie. Execution traders trust no one with their full level of interest. I can understand protecting your interest in this day and age but we’ve ALL been wrongfully conditioned to think this is an acceptable way of trading. It is all as a result of the new market structure. It’s bad trading practice and it needs to be fixed.
 
In order too look like they have taken action, FINRA actually fined an HFT called  Trillium $1 million dollars for carrying out illegal trading strategies 6 days after Mary spoke. This one firm potentially CANCELS 90 million orders a day - so the penalty they suffered sounds cheap to me. None of those orders had ethical intentions of either buying or selling.

The most efficient form of trading that I’ve ever seen, and had the privilege of experiencing first hand, was on the floor of the NY Mercantile Exchange.  That was the late 90’s when there was still a NYMEX for energy and a COMEX for metals trading.  In a sharp blue trading jacket with a mesh back, and my member badge, I traded gazillions of gold and silver futures and options. It was hectic.  Actually, it was completely insane, but transacting was a pleasure because there was structure, procedure, and liquidity. Every trade was accompanied by a look in the eye, an acknowledgement, a transaction, a confirmation, a double confirmation and every contract that traded was posted up on the board for the world to see. There were no black holes on the Merc. There was transparency and more importantly there was TRUST.

There were “locals” on the bottom steps of the ring looking to provide liquidity, initiate positions on the right side of the spread, and trade for their own account. There were “paper brokers” on the top steps executing orders for the big trade houses and believe me they had contracts to trade. You knew your liquidity’s nickname, if not his actual name, his address, his cell phone number, and what his hobbies were. You knew that when you found SKI bidding or offering and looked him in the eye – he wanted to transact. You knew when DUKEY walked into the ring, that thousands of contracts were about to change hands. Having a personal attachment to liquidity was really useful and it made for great stories at the bar after the dust settled. Nobody broke the code of standing up to a bid or offer because they had to show up the next day and look the ring in the eye. If they did they break the code of trust, they were outcast and nobody dared cut off their own career like that.

It must have had something to do with the fact that orders were transmitted over the phone, human to human, that a certain bond of trust existed between a trader and his floor clerk. A trader would have a bid on his book below the market, and not have to worry about representing that interest through a broker on the exchange. All participants did it in some form and there was no harm in showing that interest. It was meant to be a wake up call in case the price moved rapidly and it meant there was a human body there with the interest to trade.

Back then gold traders (we’ll use gold as the commodity example for arguments sake) weren’t happy to trade an ounce of gold when everyone else traded an ounce of gold. They had more pride in trading than that. They picked there levels, with good reason, and stuck to the discipline of buying where they wanted to buy. In between they were spectators.  When price got to a level where volume would trade, it would trade orderly, fairly, and everyone knew what they were getting themselves into. It was much easier to assess risk under those conditions.  It was all made possible by traders not chasing their tails every minute of the day, at every price on the board. These guys traded like Spartans.

BID.  OFFER.  BUY'EM!  SOLD!  That’s trading.

Even in my experience on the NYSE floor, as much as I hated the specialist role, as much as I tried to avoid putting his kids through college or even buying him lunch, there was a similar method to the trading floors madness. You could leave call levels in certain stocks and the specialist would “put you up” so you knew somebody had arrived at the post looking to trade at a price you may have cared. Sure, a lot of the specialists arrived at the exchange to trade stocks at 9:25 off a bus from one of the boroughs but it didn’t make them bad people, or much less effective. They were the NYSE’s market makers, by and large running pretty respectable firms like Bear Wagner, Van  der Moolen, and  LaBranche.

George LaBranche started trading U.S. Steel in 1901 on the outdoor curb exchange on Broad Street, and his descendant Michael LaBranche strolled the NYSE trading floor trying to be flexible, entrepreneurial, and reinvent his firm within the dynamic landscape of the market until he sold the specialist unit to Barclays in January of this year.

I’m sure Mr. LaBranche made a fortune on that trade but the money aside, I’m sure he is absolutely sick that the specialist system was replaced by anonymous electronic thievery. That’s how I feel about open outcry and I'm tired of being front-run by crooked machines in the stock market.

In fact, SOLD the machines, and I'll see you at the bar. 

Bring back the Spartans.

The Boss

George Steinbrenner bought the Yankees in 1973, when I was 5 years old, for $8.8 million bux.  He  purchased the team with some other cutting edge investors that went on to become legendary - Lester Crown, John DeLorean and Nelson Bunker Hunt.  Over the years he bought them out.  They may be legendary investors, but they probably didn’t have the same desire to build a world class organization that George had.  Not an ounce of their motivation contributed to the greatest sports memories I have in my life.  I think George Steinbrenner wrote the script for some of them on his path to becoming the most prominent owner in sports.

When he took over the Yankees it had been 11 years since their last championship in 1962 and the pressure was on from day one - the pressure that Steinbrenner put on himself.  One of his first quotes as owner of the team was about not being involved in day to day operations.  Once he was served his first loss, that changed abruptly.  With a history of success in business and coaching, loss in any form was not on this Boss’s agenda.  What a tremendous quality that turned out to be in this day and age.

Steinbrenner led from the front.  He handed down executive decisions like an overseer and the purpose was to invoke a reaction and a result.  He may have risen to the challenge of taking over the most successful franchise in sports like no other owner in history, certainly not up until that time.  No other franchise has come close to replicating this level of leadership change over that period of time.  But forget the 17 managerial changes, look past the three ring circus with Billy Martin, and the two suspensions from the Major League Baseball -  to George, changes were necessary until winning was achieved.  It’s pretty amazing that the Yankees won championships shortly after the Boss returned from each of his suspensions.

The Yankees franchise had already won more World Series than any other team in Major League Baseball, a total of 20, but there was a glaring problem when George took over.  Like they are today, the Yankees were expected to perform like those championship teams of yester-year that included the Cooperstown legends of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Mickey Mantle, and Roger Maris and they hadn’t.  The only one around was a slight yet sturdy, fifty year old Yogi Berra.  The outlook was bleak for the team as it was for New York.

In 1972 the New York City Fire department responded to 250,000 emergency calls – thrice that of the London Fire Brigade.  In 1976 the city of New York lived through horrific crime rates, riots, and a serial killer named “the Son of Sam” that shot people dead in their car – and scared the crap out of me at the age of 8 for the entirety of one year which happened to be the summer after JAWS.  The ESPN movie “the Bronx is Burning” offers a wildly accurate tribute to that era, the footage of a burning building as back drop to the white columns of the stadium.  That’s what George Steinbrenner bought into when he bought the Yankees.

“Owning the New York Yankees is like owning the Mona Lisa.”

In 1972, before the Steinbrenner purchase, the Yankees finished 3 games over .500, fourth place in the American League East.  Their lineup included a few Bronx Bombers who will be remembered forever – Thurman  Munson, Roy White, Bobby Murcer, Sparky Lyle, and Mel Stottlemyre.  That team also included many who have already been forgotten.  There was Ron Blomberg at first base, Horace Clarke at second base, Celerino Sanchez at third, and their current trainer, Gene Michael, at short stop.  I promise you there were no all stars among them and their four batting averages didn’t add up to the whole number one.  At that point George was a shipping mogul from Cleveland but he had competitive advantage.  Come hell or high water, he was going to master the game of baseball and start bringing championships back to the Bronx.  Well, the truth is he may not have learned anything about baseball.  He learned to carry out his mandate to WIN. 

"When you put the pinstripes on you're not just putting a baseball uniform on.  You're wearing tradition, and you're wearing pride and you're gonna wear it the right way."

By his 3rd season at the helm, George afforded the Yankees a 4 game sweep the wrong way, courtesy of the Cincinnati Reds’ “Big Red Machine” in ’76 World Series.   Having finally gotten to the championship round, George expected it to be easy to get back in 1977, and that’s exactly how the dice rolled.  Only a year later, George assembled a team of Yankees whose roster I will remember for the rest of my life.  My childhood hero - Thurman Munson – was now catching for Catfish Hunter, Mike Torrez, and a young Louisiana Lightening.  Graig Nettles led the team with *37 home runs (*no steroids) and seemed to stop everything to the left of the short stop with a diving stab of his glove.  Chris Chambliss anchored the other corner with confidence.  Willie Randolph was as automatic as the sunrise at second base.  Mickey Rivers would occupy all of center field, do his old man limp to the plate, and then break land speed records around the bases.  Reggie Jackson, the infamous Straw That Stirred the Drink, Mr October, would inspire the team offensively, and offend the team personally.  Catfish Hunter was the highest paid player that year.  He made $600,000 thanks to George’s lavish free agency offer.  Rookie Ron Guidry made $37,000.  Ace reliever Sparky Lyle tried to quit this team more than once and if you can get a hold of a copy, read Sparky’s book entitled “THE BRONX ZOO” to hear all the inside color.
 
By 1977 George mixed this cocktail of personalities and athletes, led them with fireplug manager in Billy Martin, folded his arms, and like Adrian in Rocky II, demanded that they “WIN!”  For the first time in my life I learned how completely awesome it is when your team wins it all.  Thanks for that George.
 
I sat in front of our Zenith television, with my finger hole glove on, and watched the Yankees beat the Dodgers in the World Series that year.  I watched in unadulterated little leaguer SHOCK as Reggie Jackson hit 3 consecutive home runs on 3 consecutive pitches and I bounced off my couch and nearly hit the ceiling on the last one.  Fast forward a year and the Boss and his Yankees put up 2 World Series victories in a row and I was hooked for life.  As a fan, George began putting me in the best position I could be in to be astonished.  There was so much more to come but I had no idea because it would be a while.
 
Finally in the mid-90’s – the five home grown hero’s were born, the Joe Torre era began, and five more championships inevitably followed.  Few recall the extreme ups and downs during those years and as much as Steinbrenner enraged the sports community accusing him of trying to buy championships, he proved that money couldn’t overcome the randomness of baseball events.  You can have a $200M payroll and still not make the playoffs.  Without chemistry, you have still have nothing.  A-rod slaps a glove, Dave Roberts steals a base, Johnny Damon hits a granny and the next thing you know you and your big payroll just ended a century long curse by snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
 
Even in losing championships came my fondest memories in all of sports.  At least the ones I keep nearest to my heart.  I spent two consecutive nights in the House that Ruth Built, only a few weeks after the attack on the World Trade Center, that helped define that expectation to win that Steinbrenner built into his organization and into its fans.  That expectation to win helped create an atmosphere in the Bronx tense enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.  To this day I’m waiting for a Korean Barbeque to name a meal after my personal favorite MLB Closer – the Byung-Hun Kim.
 
Back in 2001, I was pissed I couldn’t be there to witness President George Bush throwing the ball out in Game 3.  I could have used the emotional victory of seeing the President fearlessly strut out to the pitchers mound only weeks after our nation was attacked – and throw strike to the warm-up catcher.  Having seen it on TV I decided I wasn’t missing game 4. 
 
With the Yankess down 3-1 in the ninth Tino Martinez hit a two run homer to tie it.  Shortly after in the ninth, the clock struck twelve and the group sitting over my shoulder flipped a sign down that said “Mr. November”.  Up to the plate walks Derek Jeter to hit a walk off home run.  I am not sure what time I got home from Stan’s that Wednesday night but I immediately cleared my schedule and began working on attending Game 5.  To make a long story short, I’m sitting in roughly the same seats, the Yankees are down two zip bottom of nine – Kim comes back, Posada doubles, Brosius homers and we’re going to extra innings.  I don’t think I will never experience such a thing as long as I live.  At that point Alfonso Soriano’s game winning hit was beyond my comprehension. I probably thanked God, but George probably deserved it more.
 
To prove a point about the competitiveness of the decade and the randomness of baseball, the 2001 World Series was the last Fall Classic not to include a Wild Card team until 2008.  The Yankees were absent from 2002 to 2008 aside from a loss to the Marlins in 2003, but the Boss’s squad, in the twilight of his life, captured on more title in 2009 to bookend the decade with championships.  The Yankees are the first team in sports history ever to do so and it enabled George Steinbrenner to die the champion that he is.  I’ll never forget the jumbo tron in the new Yankee Stadium during the clinching game in 2009 – “win it for THE BOSS.” 
 
Everything from Independence Day, 1930 right up to July 13th, 2010 is the legacy of George Steinbrenner, and one his family can be proud of.  His reputation within the communities that he lived and ran his businesses speaks volumes about the man that he was.  After 14 years he was big enough to apologize to Yogi Berra for sending a lackey to fire him.  Joe Torre was essentially run out of New York by Steinbrenner after affording the Yankees 12 playoff appearances in 12 years under his command.  He still called George Steinbrenner on the fourth of July 2010 to say Happy Birthday to The Boss.  In some bizarre plot twist – the straight shooting Boss cared about Doc Gooden and Darryl Strawberry while their lives were in ruin.
 
As far as George the competitor goes – I truly believe that he wanted to win for nobody but himself, and that’s what makes him a great American champion.

Thanks for all of it Boss.  Being part of the Evil Empire was never, and will never be so much fun.

"Is it the fourth?"

If you call yourself an American, you should know whose final words those are.  That was the last thing 83 year old Thomas Jefferson said before he died on the fourth of July, 1826, in Charlottesville Virginia.  Ironically, 50 years to the day after the Declaration of Independence, which he authored, was signed.  But Jefferson was way more than a founding father of our country and I'd be willing to bet that he himself is at least partially responsible for the freedom you, and I, and everyone living in this blessed country enjoys today.

Jefferson did it all.  Most will remember him as the third President of the United States but don't forget he practically built the place.  He was the first Secretary of State to George Washington.  He was the second Vice President of the United States to John Adams but he probably won't be remembered as a politician.  He was motivated by his belief that individuals have certain inalienable rights and that motivated him to accomplish great things.  Jefferson graduated from the College of William & Mary at 16 years old, he was Governor of Virginia, he founded the University of Virginia and he planned everything from its architecture to its curriculum.  He invented dozens of practical devices and he's been called the "Father of Archaeology" for his brilliant excavation methods.  He was a wine collector, an author, an artist, a lawyer, and he used to greet guests at the White House in a bathrobe and slippers so they would feel welcomed.


He left the legacy of an American Patriot that hasn't been seen in decades, maybe centuries now so when he asked "Is it the fourth?" right before he passed you can be sure he wasn't just confirming what date it was.  He was referring to the day his country was born.  He was asking because it is everything he lived for.


It is the fourth baby.

MISSION STATEMENT

I'll always be straight with you. 

The purpose of this blog is to have a place post whatever blows my hair back.  Whether it be Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders Speech or a review of Widespread Panic's 11th studio album, I will be exercising my constitutional right to speak freely.  I'm going to follow the world by following the markets, economics, pop culture, pop nonsense, and some stuff that you may not be a fan of.  Just like reality this blog will go from very light, to being very dark with no advance warning.  Comment as you like but remember that this is MY blog and I will be most forthright in monitoring it.  Hopefully, I will post a few comments, fictional stories, news items, or quotes that will make you think about the future.  Not your own future - what might show up in the near future on Reading, Writing, and Rock and Roll in U.S.A. 

Let's start with a quote from one of the greats:

“This year I will be more thoughtful of  my fellow man, exert more effort in each of my endeavors professionally as well as personally, take love wherever I find it, and offer it to everyone who will take it.  In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me.  I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."

I would like to thank the Skydog for providing such a good place to start and to set a high standard for me to try to follow.  The Skydog only walked the earth for 24 years but he did it the right way - with a great attitude and a guitar strapped over his shoulder.  For that I will always envy him.  But his story is even more fascinating when you consider that when Skydog was 3, his father, a career United States Army Seargent, was murdered by a fellow veteran that he picked up hitch hiking after a long tour of duty.

I will tell you that Duane Allman is among the many inspirations for this blog.