I Suck The Zinc Out Of The Kinks ( Of Thailand )

Maybe I will address my ever so minute readership which someday hopefully may reach potentially the miniscule level by the term Drones today at least. It would be tacky I suppose to pick a different term with every potential submission and far be it from me to fail to step to the shallow or the absurd in order to entertain myself. What I cannot determine is why I'm doing this when there ought to be something else to occupy one's time.

I have already discussed just about everything I am about to record here with an upstairs neighbor and someone else making this seem an academic exercise. I think I would like to talk to a social worker instead but here I remain, as if paralyzed by a potential fruitless outcome of that conversation.

I told someone what I think is the truth, that I am a better singer/vocalist than writer; I definitely do not plan on writing any songs the rest of my life. This would limit me in the music industry to being a cover tune artist--not that I have a problem with this.

The above begs the question what songs would I cover, if not why. L. A. Woman comes to mind as does some Hendrix stuff. I would yell and scream. be influential--before flapping my arms and flying to the moon a la Good Old Charlie Brown. In a round about manner I told this to a medical professional, who humored me for as long as one would imagine, probably alerting hospital security upon my inevitably departing.

I auditioned fruitlessly for the most part to do this type of thing ( sans arm flapping ) in my younger days and largely embarrassed myself. In the privacy of my apartment bedroom I dressed up in burgundy tights and a once tie dyed t shirt that you could eventually call see through, which would have been me uniform of choice a la M. Jagger at JFK Stadium in the early eighties.

It seems to me that there could easily be a contest regarding Beatle cover artists. The contest would be to determine who is of poorer quality, being as how they all are so marginally successful in my estimation. There is nothing quite like listening to anyone but J. W. Lennon doing Come Together. The same goes for Let It Be. If one must cover a Beatle tune, seemingly, the thing is to attempt to look and sound just like them. This is my feeling. Something makes me believe ( hallucinate ) that I could be an exception to this rule and do a nice Love Me Do among many other Beatle hits.

It is damning with barely any praise to suggest that Elton John beats anyone else as a Beatle cover singer. Music is a business, though and right now I would be relatively satisfied with being regarded as mediocre were I getting paid to sing Break On Through ( To The Other Side ) , Highway Child, Crosstown Traffic and what not. I would specialize in nasty stuff for the most part, it would seem being as how my range is relatively limited. Plus. I am nasty myself and must be true to who I am. I almost convince myself that I could belt out Painted Black with enough passion to entertain a respectably sizable audience.

This fantasy has about the same veracity/substance as my assessment of sports journalism back when I was an elementary school age kid. I really thought I could do a better job than the Phillies beat writers. Ya' Got Ta' Have Heart...when the odds are sayin' you'll never win, that's when the grin should start.

No one accuses the Wilson sisters from Heart of lacking range. What I processed, though, the second time I saw their interview with D. Rather is that they seem to be American Army brats. I had been under the impression that they were Canadians from West Coast Vancouver. Of course they discussed extensive drug and alcohol abuse and anyone can fictionalize anything, so do not take my word for any of this being accurate.

Listening to Gary Lee of Rush, the rock band from Toronto, I began to conclude that he and his bandmate friends sort of would seem to be an equivalent almost to Heart. I just am unfamiliar with their music.

I feel the need/desire comin' on strong ( She Got The Goldmine, I Got The Shaft ? ) to acknowledge that this story may mostly be a byproduct of a painkilling medication and an injection of some anti psychotic goo. If there is such a thing as poetic justice it'll be erased or mercifully under read.

Completely off subject, Bill Burr reminds me or/and seems to be a comedian who derives from several others of note. He compared himself with Ron Howard and this made some sense. He has the plastic face/mania of Jim Carrey. Somehow the recently deceased cancer victim N. McDonald came to mind as well. I technically am troubled by Mr. Burr's material as it seems to be in direct opposition to my adamantly staunch unfailing, never say die embarrassingly un flagging feminist approach to being a first class wet noodle wimp of a loser. Did I leave out the term un yielding, by chance? I must emphasize/advertise myself as being a first class Rear Admiral, Latter Half ( I managed to get demoted somehow from Rear Admiral, Lower Half ) .

In other off topic news the Chicago Sky of the WNBA won its first championship. Candace Parker, an Mississippi State alumni was instrumental.

Oh and Russ Westbrook debuted sans the signature triple double in La La Land as a Laker would be world champion. He even failed to break double digits in any significant category except minutes played.

In more unrelated news I heard that seventy-seven percent of Americans have had one or more vaccinations for the dreaded C19 virus; this statistic was mentioned on local radio and relates to people over twelve years of age. I suppose everyone is aware of eighty-four year old Colin Powell becoming a virus death statistic.