My dad totally lived knee-deep in coke'n'whores (rock'n'roll!) back in the day, and I didn't even realize it till he started to prattle on about clients-this and expense-accounts-that in response to an innocent remark I made about a concert I'd been to a the Limelight. I tippled a couple brews while cheering ? and the Mysterians; the old man did lordy-knows-what with Japanese executives and observed his shitfaced VP of sales "dance all night with a transvestite" (unbeknownst to him, "ha ha ha"). So Mom took us kids to mass in Rhode Island during the same early-morning hours that you motor-bootied with proto-candy-raver bozos in a converted church? Somebody call Frank Owen!