NY in a nutshell.
So much to cover. I have to begin the strange task of transcribing my fevered notebook scrawling desperatly penned throughout the course of my misadventures. It was a spiritual journey. I went there expecting a mad-cap romp, and came away with a little more perspective. Perhaps a little hope. When you are surrounded by such a vast number of quality people you can't help but feel that you must be doing something right with your life. There were too many coincidences and odd run-ins to call it anything less than a sign. Perhaps a sign that I'm where I need to be. Or where I should be going. It was what I needed. As soon as I enlist my friend Keith to scan some pictures and explain how to get them on here I will share some images. For now? I thank everyone of my east coast family for their supreme hospitality, and wish them only the best. As for the loved ones of my homeland? I am back. And I am salty. (whatever the hell that means.)
Salty dog has an older sexual meaning in US folklore and song. See, for example, the traditional song 'Salty Dog Blues' (where the lyric "let me be your salty dog" translates to let me be your sexual partner). The term comes from the term "sea dog," or a horny sailor.
Salty dog also means ornery, as in the T-Bone Walker tune "Ain't Salty No More."
In the U.S. Marines and Navy, one who is a salty dog is one who is very experienced, having travelled much and seen more than his fair share of things, used more in the lower enlisted ranks to establish some kind of credibility regardless of rank.