Butchering the Classics

Here's a priceless bit of nostalgia (priceless as in: a, irreplaceable; and b, not worth any money): Me and my dad, singing "New York, New York," in a Cincinnati hotel bar in 1994. After a family funeral, I should add--if you knew my family you'd understand.

"New York, New York"

Mr. Sinatra, we are truly and deeply sorry.