Thirstda, April 3, 2025, is here. The day arrived in a morose mood, dangling thick gray cloud strands over the mountains, covering the sun’s influence, and acting like it planned to dump us in moisture. Then some mystical order was given. Cosmic stagehands raced out. Clouds were shoved to the scene’s edges. Blue sky lit up. Sunshine burns down with a new hope. It was 36 F. Now we’re touching 45 F. But, hey: it feels warmer.
I stepped into the bathroom. Doing bathroomy stuff, my foot landed on something hard and mildly sharp. This was an attachment to an electric razor. One I had to trim my beard and mustache. I always have a mustache. My first mustache was noticed on me when I was fourteen. Mom told me that my face was dirty and to go wash it. “There’s something above your lip.”
My older sister laughed. “That’s his mustache.”
The beard comes and goes. A goatee is almost permanent. I’ve had it since I left the military in 1995. But the electric razor that piece attached to has been gone for over a decade. Turning it over, I pushed to understand how it came to be on the bathroom floor today. Unable to come up with anything except The Borrowers and aliens, I tossed the piece into the trash. It’s another page in my Book of Life Mysteries. I think we all keep one of those record books, don’t we?
Three songs were competing in the morning mental music stream. I introduced the first one. This was “Valley Girl” by Frank and Moon Zappa. This song capture the California valley girl subculture, and their unique verbiage. ‘Valleyspeak’ swept the nation. Too many people walked around, smirking, telling me, “Gag me with a spoon.” Variations of that phrase quickly emerged.
I was singing my variant of the song to Papi. Papi is my housefloof, feline by looks and attitude. The boy loves treats such as Churri squeeze tube pastes. My wife rechristened it chumley. Chumley is how we refer to any of those treats.
Today I sang to Papi, “Chumley cat, he’s a chumley cat. Oh my my, fer sure fer sure, he’s a chumley cat and there is no cure.”
Second up was Elvis Presley with “Blue Suede Shoes.” Carl Perkins did it first, after writing in in 1955 and releasing it in 1956, the year of my birth. The Neurons delivered this one to the mental music stream. They didn’t explain why. I was in the bathroom doing bathroom stuff when it arrived. I used to perform this song for my family when I was four or five. Hip swiveling and singing the chorus. No, video and photographic evidence doesn’t exist. I remember doing it and Mom verified it.
Third up is “Don’t Bring Me Down” by the Animals. I’m feeling absurdly young kitten energetic and happy. I don’t know why. You’d think that with Trumpzilla burning down the world economy with his outlandish tariffs, I’d be more depressed. My stocks are down. 401 K and IRA worth down. Prices are up and will go higher. But here I am, happy as the mythical lark. Sensing that mood, The Neurons introduced the 1966 song into the morning mental music stream. This is today’s theme music.
Hope you’re experiencing some of what I’m getting and your day doesn’t bring you down. Do the best you can, right? Cheers
Rained all day here. Still raining and the valley was shrouded in mist for much of the day.
My favorite versions of Blue Suede Shoes were recorded by Hendrix, one live and one studio.
There is a bit of a connection in your videos, Chas Chandler the Animals bassist was Jimi’s manager, which I’ll wager you knew.
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Yes, I considered other BSS covers. But the Presley one was matched to my childhood performance so I stayed true to it.
I had forgotten that about Chandler! Thanks for the reminder. Cheers
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Groovy, brother. I’m gonna lay back and dream on a sunny day. Maybe fondly recollect more offerings from Hendrix and others who rocked us back in the day.
Nice suggestion. Had me listening and grinning. Cheers
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I have been a Hendrix fan for a long time; since I heard the album Electric Ladyland at the 13th birthday party of a school friend. I was 12.
I was on my paper round a short while after when I read of his death. I was numb for a day or two.
The only other times I have felt so distraught over the death of a musician was when I heard Lennon had been murdered and when Stevie Ray Vaughn died in a helicopter crash.
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Purple Haze was my intro. Just heard it on the AM radio and went, wow. His death hit me in the solar plexus. Janis Joplin less than a month later numbed me. Then, yes, the other two for me were Lennon’s murder and SRV’s helo crash. Part of the reason that Joplin and Hendrix’s death hit me hard was another death earlier that year. I idolized a racing driver named Bruce McLaren who died in June of 1970. Rough year in that way for me.
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