Super Bowl Sunday With Hendrix And The Who

We’re getting more snow. Can all this snow clean the world? Maybe if it smothers the right people.

Some guy on the radio said the most common color for a car is white. I’ve never seen a white car. I live in an alternate reality filled with silver, black, and a bit of midnight pearl aqua.

The Super Bowl is an excuse for people to get together and binge on barbecued animals. But who needs an excuse? In fact, who needs the game? I ate plenty and didn’t watch ten minutes of it.

Okay, I watched The Who at halftime. Actually, I watched half The Who at halftime. The Who hasn’t really been The Who since Keith Moon died back in 1545.

There’s a part of me that likes to see old guys still playing—hey, why not? And there’s a part of me that hates to see old guys playing—because they
often look ridiculous. It was tragic that Jimi Hendrix died so young, but hey, he’ll always be 27 years old. He’s never going to be that bald, fat dude flicking his tongue and singing Foxy Lady.