Down on me

I'm listening to random play tonight.
A lot of the Beau Brummels, and give me a break Robert Mitchum, yeah, that Robert Mitchum, singing Thunder Road.

My arm is twitching. I hate when it does that.

And hey, can that be Bob Dylan singing From A Buick 6?

I drank some one day past expiration milk today, and it tasted like it. Not spoiled, just a one day after expiration taste. The kind of taste that you don't really taste until you burp, and then you know you'd better throw it out in another day or two, or three at the most.

I know, I'm not making much sense, but that happens when I try to multi-task, and I'm not even trying to multi-task, I'm just thinking about trying to multi-task.

And damn, my arm is still twitching.

I'll give you one Townes Van Zandt, and two Lyle Lovett's for one John Prine ... deal?

Excuse me, but now I've got gas.

Hit it Pickett!!!
I'm gonna take that girl and hold her, and do everything I told her in the midnight hour. Aaaaaaaaa-oooooooooooooooooh.

Whenever I hear the song Maggie May by Rod Stewart it makes me think of a highly romanticized version of my parent's courtship, romanticized because except for my mother's nickname being Maggie and my dad playing pool their courtship was nothing like the song.

If Nico and Grace Slick had a fist fight back in 1967 I wonder who would have won?

I had a monster crush on Grace Slick when I was a teenager, her and Buffy Sainte Marie, and Linda Ronstadt, and Peggy Lipton the chick from TV's Mod Squad, yeah Julie, that's the one, and oh yeah, I had a tremendous crush on Goldie Hawn when she was on Laugh-in, and Yoko Ono too ... ha, I made that up about Yoko Ono, seriously, honest.

I guess that's all for now.

Don't let the sun catch you crying.