Just Look

Goodbyes have always been too much for me. Thank goodness for happy endings.

All The Rage On The Wrong Side Of The Water

You smell coffee. It's England! You fell asleep after all. You didn't go crazy and you didn't die. Another memory that is just another memory. File it there with marbles and dancing and love. There comes a time when it occurs to you that it really does go by too quickly. Now it's your turn to tell the story. Oh, they don't want to hear it. They will remember that you told them though.

Tell them about love, too. Try to convince them not to take it for granted.

Slow Down The Reaper

Beautiful weather tends to make me sad. Listening to the blues cheers me up. Maybe I was born in the wrong hemisphere, the wrong century. I have everything I've ever wanted. More. Rumi suggested that it was better to love from afar. Maybe that's how you make the love stay.

No Place For A Man Of Means

Sometimes I would lie awake in bed worrying about the body on my '32 Ford coupe rusting. I always gave away old Levis when holes appeared in the knee. 

Now, young attorneys with too much disposable income pay the custom shop at Fender an extra three or four grand to bang around a telecaster before they take it home. Prissy designers place the love seat  right behind the crack in the marble floor, in front of the crumbling plaster wall, for the catalog photographer.

Those lawyers that I mentioned spend extra cash for Levis that have already been distressed and come with holes conveniently worn in the knees. They don't want to appear inauthentic while they pick out southern rock on their telecasters in their media rooms.

Getting old ain't so tough. I feel downright fashionable in my distressed state.

Now Who's Lucky?

More love, more kindness. I just heard Hillary Clinton call for just that. As a kid I had no cynicism in my little heart. Oh, I learned it. Learned it well. Folks will live up to, or down to, your expectations.

Science is real. So is love. That and hunger, pain, beauty and gravity.

Politics is not real. Neither is money. 

You want power? Try love.

A Perfect Man In A Perfect World

Hillary Clinton has been quoted as saying, "It's always surprising to me how many young women think they have to be perfect. I rarely meet a young man who doesn't think he already is."

Really, I can't say that Ms. Clinton and I agree on very much very often. Oh, I suspect that if she weren't trying to please someone, herself, trying to spit further than the men around her, that we would most likely see eye to eye on most things. Ambition is a terrible thing... or not. Depends on which of us you ask, I guess.

I doubt that you will hear many quotes like that one from Hillary again any time soon.

My favorite men in history are the ones most like women. Oh, I'm not talking about cross dressers or drag queens, even though they're all fine in my book, too. I'm referring to men who are in touch with their feminine side, the ones who are secure in a pink shirt. You know, the ones who will pass on a fishing trip to help paint a house for Habitat For Humanity.

My favorite women seem to be the ones most comfortable with their feminine side, too. 

There's no need for pant suits. Your team's better.

Tin Foil Hats

By 1957 I was becoming something of a rock'n'roll snob. I knew that the Sun sides were finer than anything that RCA was gonna be able drag out of Nashville or New York. I was certain in my half-developed mind that western culture had peaked in 1956.

It would be decades before I ever saw video footage of the "real Elvis" from 1954. In relative terms the social phenomena had already begun to morph into an act. The first Elvis impersonator.

Success never enhanced much art.