He Don't Look Back

I just finished watching the Bob Dylan press conference from December of 1965 [41 years ago, kiddies!]. Fascinating stuff and I recommend it. It's on YouTube, it is in 8 parts and it has annoying breaks for Dylan song/photo montages that the poster thinks helps him evade copyright restrictions [good try, fella!]. The questions range from the ridiculous to the nonsensical, but it's a hoot watching him try to be polite.

Every single YouTube post involving a musical celebrity from the 60s or 70s has the following comment after it: "Boy, was he/she HIGH!" I just like the consistency of that comment.

I broke the little toe on my right foot yesterday. This little piggy is black, swollen and hurts like hell. My dog is pissed because no walkies for 2 days. Why must she suffer too?

It's my birthday on Sunday. My brother, kindly, sent me an online Gift Card for LL Bean. Ah, I suppose I could get some attire from their "Me no want any sex" collection. I spent literally 45 minutes looking at their website and just trying to envision the circumstance under which I would want to wear any of their stuff.

My brother used to always borrow my clothes, particularly my shirts, back in the 80s, when we both lived in Orange County. The exchange never went the other direction. Although, if I could go back to 1975 and get some of his Cat Stevens/Seals & Croft hippie wear, that would be cool. I was ordering out of the Ron Burgandy Junior Collection back then. Although I did have some kickin' velour shirts with zipper fronts and collars. Don't get me started about Levi Movin' On Jeans, especially the beige twin tracks that I so adored.

On a sad note, the only child of Angie Dickinson and Burt Bacharach committed suicide yesterday here in Thousand Oaks. Her name was Nikki, and I will post a link to a snippet of the great song that BB wrote for her back in the 1960s when she was just a child. As I listen to it now, it seems like such a sad little [great] song.

I have visitors this weekend. Where is the vacuum?