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Mike wrote the music, I wrote the words. The fair-trade deal with Carne Asada. He sent me the original audio while he was undergoing some gastrointestinal distress, hence the title. So of course after you look at something for a few weeks you can’t imagine it being called anything else, and you’d break the legs of someone who would suggest such a thing. Fortunately, it never came to that. I think Mike is much better now. The lyrics to the song have nothing to do with being physically ill. Something to do with yo-yo-ing bus rides from Boston to New York and the better-off-unpondered ponderables one ponders upon.
