Tiptoe through the tulips

Energized by the recent awareness that Tiny Tim is buried not less than two miles from our house, the Kids and I hopped on the bike in search. However, we did not find any marker for the esteemed ukulele player, nor for the inventor of the bundt pan, a Soul Asylum bassist, the creator of the Mars bar, Lindbergh's dad, Paul Wellstone or Hubert Humphrey- all interned there as well.

In other news, Mr. Jimmy, who didn't get what he wanted, died.

Wheel in the Sky

After moving into the New House, I found myself a shelf in a basement room that was ideal for storing my vinyl that I had been estranged from for six years. (They had lain fallow in a Cleveland basement.)

I cleaned off the shelf (finding local newspapers from 1943 and 1966- boy, those celebrants of the Greatest Generation omit mention of the deadly race riots that occurred during the war) and loaded up my collection.

Shortly after I had re-established this connection, Mrs. B, feeling guilty about an imminent Target buying spree, volunteered to buy a retro turntable. I said Yes and she came home with a 4-in-1 gizmo that could even play my 78s. I was psyched and started pulling out the old ELO, Carpenters, Wishbone Ash, ZZ Top, Big Star, and K-Tel gems.

Sadly, however, I alphabetized the records and am at a loss to explain the absence of many blues, R & B, and colored ELO vinyl. Wha? I did cull out some records along the way (bye bye Doors bootlegs), but would I have really jettisoned Ginger Baker and Fela jamming together?

Misty-colored memories

Back when I was growing up, the mountains vaulted higher to the skies, the trees grew straighter, and the rivers ran clearer.

And the mysteries were real chin-scratchers. We wondered: was Klaatu really some reincarnation of the Beatles?

Now, the big question for kids these days is whether Guns'n'Roses is ever going to put out another album.