Never a good sign when old Connie Francis songs play in your head. Well, maybe if you're old Connie Francis, it's okay. I'm not. It's not. This is one of those days where I feel like I'm running out of passion.
Would I trade the internet for rock'n'roll? Well, yeah, I suppose I would. I'm not nostalgic. I'm aware that there's good music out there. For the most part, it's just not on the radio. I see good people everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. They don't seem to run governments very often. Banks, either. Churches.
Where are the heroes?
Is the deck stacked against Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez? Beto O'Rourke?
My memories of JFK are complicated and conflicted. While I idolized him, I also took him for granted. Until they took him away, that is. The only time in my life that I ever skipped school was to go see President Kennedy speak. He lived another week.
Those were the days when I was lucky enough to see and hear Shirley Chisholm, Buckminster Fuller, Dick Gregory and so many idols who will come to mind as soon as I walk away from the keyboard. Inspiration was in the ether.
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