In case you hadn't noticed I tend to write the same things over and over. I'm kidding. I mean I do write the same things over and over but if you read much of this drivel you're well aware of that.
In the case of rock'n'roll, one of my limited subjects, it suddenly dawns on me that I am so totally out of touch that I'm writing for a handful of old coots who can't much hear the radio any longer anyway. Oh, this new self discovery probably won't change anything. Not much. In 1955 I used to take my 45's down to the playground in the evening where we would take turns spinning our favorites. I was often sent packing with mine. They wanted the Royal Teens and Pat Boone. They did not want Wynonie Harris or Screamin' Jay Hawkins.
We'll see how well I hold up on my other subjects of expertise: broken hearts, old dogs, peace, hot rods and hoochie coochie dancers. Don't be surprised if I'm ranting about Gene Vincent or the Coasters by the end of the week. I don't seem to change much.
Love just as hard as you can go. You'll never regret it.
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