At the risk of being a fuddy-duddy I don't have a computer; I don't have e-mail; and I really don't need something in my house that I would be sitting in front of for hours.

I'm trying to get the record that I made at my birthday party last year, trying to get that out, and the lawyers are diddling around with it and it probably won't be out until next year. I don't know.

By the way, I got a Grammy, which was a big thrill.

Sometimes go around with guys who are scuffling -- for awhile. But usually they end up marrying some cat with a factory. This is the way world ends, not with a whim but a banker.

The house is in turmoil with records on every space. In the kitchen and in the dining room is covered with records. I don't have a big enough house to accommodate everything.

There are a million good tunes.

I need to get up and walk around and keep my knees from getting bad, which is what's happening.