Some might think (or just the animal in my head does) that every opportunity to make something outta this blog and its/my online, er, presence, was missed, from the first blog revolution to being deemed "comedy cognoscenti" by all the Twits to doing I-don't-know-what-the-hell on TickTock or whatever, has been missed.
Right. Well, there isn't an audience for soft-rock treatises and record player reminisces, with a side of trips to back to Turfland Mall and Landsdowne pool
But this is the way I am trying to tell you (you, or just the animal in my head) that I am am alive, I am living. I know all the moments these songs vibrated the chain of tiny bones in my ears. I remember them all. I remember this one (Clybourn Avenue, rain), this one (San Diego County), here (outside of North/Clybourn Red line), and here (moving and moving on).
It all happened. It all happens, every time.
Here is when my bike ride to the lake would time out exactly for me to fly down the hill at the northern end of Lincoln Memorial with this song on the tape player. The water-sky line, the sun, the wind, the speed, the water on the rocks, cars climbing toward Kenwood Avenue, all of it, mine and mine forever.
