joe green wrote:
> Thanks...they are probably not going anywhere. Today I am 59 and, as always, find that what I write that matters the most to me is the strange past. And a ballad (as unacceptable as one is) does the job for me. All those stories are essentially true. Now here's a song (to the tune of Arthur McBride).
>
I don't know Arthur McBride from the Bride of Frankenstein but I love
this anyway. And as for being 59, happy birthday, but you are still a
kid:-). I saw all them boys with the transparent skin from a daily diet
of speed that really DID kill, and guys with arms serious trackwork in
the days when you came by your tattoos in a shooting gallery not in some
pissy little tattoo parlor. Yeah, those were the days, and I only get
to missing them when I am awake.
You cannot become an official Old Fart Until you turn sixty. We'll wait
for you.
ken
--
--------------------
Ken Wolman rainermaria.typepad.com
We're neither pure, nor wise, nor good
We'll do the best we know.
We'll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow...
Bernstein/Wilbur, "Candide"
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