Hello, I Love You

I have always had my suspicions that the first song I recognized and understood as something my mother didn't custom deliver to me was a song by The Doors: Hello, I Love You.

This song was on their 1968 record Waiting For The Sun. Yes, the bio pic by Oliver Stone would have you believe Morrison was having a mental breakdown through 1968 into 1970, but The Doors released The Soft Parade, then Morrison Hotel and finally L.A. Woman* sequentially from 1969 to 1971, when Morrison died soon after I was born.

I Get Along Without You Very Well (Except Sometimes)

Easy on the piano, but hard to sing

I Get Along Without You Very Well (Except Sometimes)
1939
Music by Hoagy Carmichael
Words by J.B. ?
Key Bb Major

Another song of the "I'm not in love" variety. Country songs have tested this approach and found it flawless. A narrator explains that he has gotten over his recent love. He doesn't love her anymore. He's healed. He only looks at her picture on the wall because he's wondering what he should replace it with. He only thinks about her because he's hoping she's doing well. He's totally and completely over the heartbreak...but if she wants to get back together then he'd consider it. Under certain conditions. I should gather a list of this kind of song.**

It's a pretty funny approach because the listener understands that the whole premise of the song, the affirmation that the narrator is not heartbroken, is false, so the song becomes a confession of how he's trying but has failed to stop loving the person who has stopped loving him. He actually loves her more than ever.

Shoeless Child Becomes Gypsy

To commemorate my 2000th blog post I'll return to early Oggy when my bike was my van and I still had no shoes but at least my socks were clean. 

Classic banana seat Schwinn circa 1976. My van was 7 years old when this photo was taken. We would meet in about 30 years.

A Red Sox patch and Salem Village patch too. The Miami Dolphins patch is because my grandparents were in Florida.

I think there's a psychological profile that could trace my preference for plaid bell bottom pants back to these days of innocence. So, that would mean my bell bottom pants are my 'Rosebud"
Interesting, today I would assert that because everyone has become obese, lard ass, heart disease aspirants that modern clothes do not fit my skinny ass, that clothes from 1977 were made for disco cocaine freaks who looked more like I do today, but a counter argument could be made that I am trying to regain the security I felt for my intact family by wearing the same clothes that I wore then. I don't actually like polyester disco shirts, but I admit they fit far better than any pret-a-porter fashion. But that might be obfuscation on my part to disguise my pining for the simplicity of youth. 

the answer is so obviously hidden under our noses

This would also mean that even if C.F.Kane was not diverted from his quest to the storage facility that held his wooden sled, that he would've found the sled and still not been satisfied. Because I have abundant plaid bell bottom pants now and still my heart aches like a lost bird in false spring. So, do I want those specific pants? No, the pants are a substitute for something lost forever, that can never be regained. Or do we merely bury the past under snow and junk of a lifetime, run from our roots, grow up, die, scratch on our coffins?
 
Comments?

Body Work

No patience for body filler work

The problem is having so many imperfections that a few more don't matter.

Discarding the foam dashboard cover meant dealing with these 6 holes from the retaining bolts. I could leave them open, which would be understandable, or I could fill them with some body filler and then hunt for a good paint match.This paint hasn't ever seen the sun so I simply tried to get a color match. But the van is parked where I can barely move it and I didn't want to drive it to the paint store to compare swatches and they wouldn't let me take the swatches to the van, so I took a sample piece off the steering shaft, which looked identical, but there are about 20 different shades of this color. They were all very close and I had no idea which to choose, so we picked a close on and it's close, but my half-assed filler sanding makes this look bad. I think I'm going to paint little landscapes and stuff on the dash so eventually it will all blend in. Or I'll get some Mayan fabric and drape it over. I understand the principles and accept that you get what you deserve with body work, but I have bigger fish to fry with the fuel filler hose, the oil pan gasket, etc.

Cheer Up

You think You had a bad day?

This dog scared the shit out of me as I was walking along the sidewalk. But it didn't bark at me or do anything. But the fact I looked up and a big dog face was about 3 inches from my whiskers wasn't what I expected. I suspect the maid puts the dog on the window ledge when she's cleaning. Notice the glass shards embedded into the top of the window molding. It's like Gotham here in Latin America.