The New Boots hurt, yesterday. I noticed a callous developing. Some people call that a "blister." The Marine Corps calls it: "The sensation of fear leaving one's body." Long story short: I had to call a Taxi, rather than do the walk back home from any and all festivities. It was the Rhododendron Festival and Parade, "Downtown," yesterday. Not much of a "Downtown." It'll "do," in a pinch. Portland, Oregon's, "Rhody Fest" is far more spectacular. Rose Fest, even more so.
Stopped in to my Friends' Independent Record Store along the way. The owner, who's name I may have never known: Plethora o' knowledge regarding Rock and Roll Ephemera. We have fun yakking about obscure LP's and such. We illegally smoked parts of cigarettes in front of his store. "Screw 'em. Screw the Government." (Anthony Hopkins, Legends of the Fall. Regarding Bootlegging.) We were talking about "Picture Discs" yesterday. "Whether or not either of us had a "Favorite" Picture Disc. He said: "Wizard Of Oz." (IF there is one) I said: I told him I'd bring him a Hot Poop T-Shirt, when I remembered to. My Friend, Jim McGuinn owns the Hot Poop LP and Music Store, in Walla Walla, Washington. We've been Friends since I was in High School. That, "was awhile ago."
Jim just reminded me, via Facebook, that Judy Collins is having a Birthday, today. I commented: "I STILL 'fall into' her eyes." So did Stephen Stills and Graham Nash. So many did. Willfully.
I'm "up" for the moment, contemplating my Mom's foot injury (she broke some small bones in her foot) and debating with myself whether or not "going back to sleep for two hours" is a good idea. I'm leaning towards the sleep thing, after I eat something. Sunday's are good for sleeping late, musing about what the days' activities might be and enjoying the Quiet Building.
Doo-doo-doo-dee-doot. Doot-doot-de-doot-dee-doot:
You are: "What You Are." (You know who you are, Baby. You Ruby Throated Sparrow, You.)
-Doc
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