Indian Point and Silver Dollar City and the goofy, sublime sensation of being happy and in love. Autumn also reminds me of Sublime.
Flashback: Autumn 1997. Mike Wingo and I are given the opportunity to start a magazine, to create something out of nothing. Why the hell not? We are successful journalists, winners of awards, certified black belts in badassery. So we take on a challenge that sounds ridiculous in hindsight: go from concept to reality in six weeks. And make it perfect bound while you're at it.
We do. And 417 Magazine is born.
The soundtrack to our little creation includes the voice of Bradley Nowell, genius musician and addict, already dead from a heroin overdose. The CD: Sublime.
Even now, 15 years later, I hear music from that album and think of Wingo and one of our interns, Hana Thomas. She brought us Sublime and plugged it into our ears. She has no idea of her contribution to creation, of how much that music still resonates in me when I write words that mean something to me.
"What I Got" is playing right now. I am young in my heart, strong and vital and convinced there is nothing I cannot do. I revel in the feeling and hope for the third great autumn of my life.