I’ll try and say this in one ‘obituary-like’ sentence (as J.D. Salinger might have written, in fact, did write, about Seymour Glass):

Guido Michelini, that irresponsible womanizing jackass who shows up on this blog from time to time, is the ghost of my former self who came to his senses when his/my son committed suicide at twenty-three, and the person who got me through that hell, in fact saved my own worthless life, was one of the players, as was I, in the drugged-up, gin-swilling sex-o-rama of the 1970s, and who some time later became my wife and continued to keep me sane and gave me a reason to live, until her own death last year, just before Christmas, which, as I’ve written, was for the most part my death too.