@GeePawHill It’s so great!
Here’s the entire episode of the 1960s show “Camera 3” for anyone who hasn’t seen it.
Son House and a very young Buddy Guy!
#blues
I GOT A LETTER THIS MORNING, HOW YOU RECKON IT READ? HURRY HURRY, THE GAL YOU LOVE IS DEAD.
Fuck all y'all. I know it's an overplay.
It's still my greatest live blues take. I was just outside, singing it to the trees.
Son House, "Death Letter Blues"
I should like, so much, really for real for serious for keeps, to die.
I got told, this evening, and re-told and reinforced, that I am the emotional center of this family.
Look, I don't care about World Weekly News or the National Enquirer. They reveal these stories, and it's all trash, really, they don't know how I got in to the convent, or how I got out. It's just *lies*, always *lies*.
All I will say is this:
That was one crazy night.
...
...
...
And so, but anyway, there I was, nekkid as a jaybird, and the abbess said . . .
Look, I *absolutely* do not care about your gender preference or your gender presentation, except in the occasional event where I think you're kinda hawt, but I'm excluded from consideration.
But other than that?
You go!
There's like a, don't make me tap the sign aspect here, but I'm not gonna go there, cuz *I* have a family motto:
"We been kicked outta better bars than this."
A bear walks into a bar, and the bartender says, "What can I get you?"
And the bear says, "A cold beer. . . . . . . . and a shot of vodka."
And the bartender says, "Hey, fella, why the big pause?"
Rain comin' pretty hard.
S'cool, no issue.
But it reminds me of the time the rain came hard, and there was water pouring in through what was then our front door.
Honestly, a *great* night.
I was out there in tennis shoes and my underpants with a shovel, digging a channel to get the water down the hill.
I ain't got so many hero nights in my backstory, but there I was, tennies and underpants, breakin' all hero and such like, digging a trough.
Reminder: There is no *physical* shortage of housing anywhere in the United States. We don't actually need more buildings. We need fewer landlords.
You see me sign off, sometimes, with messages of comical affection and affirmation, for people who are, well, *strangers*.
I mean, I *do* have followers I know personally, but certainly not 6,000 of them.
It's because, when I challenge my followers, they rise up *so* hard to deliver the goods.
And cuz I don't think anyone who wasn't my kind of broken sweet weirdo would be willing or able to put up with me.
I REPEAT: I AM NOT VOTING FOR THE DEMOCRATS BECAUSE I THINK THEY ARE THE GOOD GUYS.
Y'all need to grow the fuck up.
I just love that I know so many people who are serious about music, film, writing, art, and craft.
I pose these weird category challenges, and I get back the most *brilliant* answers.
Moderately heavy slow patient rain tonight.
*Mad* petrichor scent out on the deck.
A perfect night for drinking philosophically, and eventually for sleeping, if it keeps up for a bit longer.
(I can't *guarantee* it was written for the film, but I believe it was. Jobim composed, of course, and Luis Bonfa write the lyric.
If you know McCorkle and her backstory, it's all the more moving, to be honest.)
"Manha De Carnaval", from "Black Orpheus", this may be a strange choice of take, Susannah McCorkle.
(True story: death is my set and guess my religion.)