One could be practical, I suppose, and carry a list of the various dimensions of existing items so that when buying new, you'd know which size to get, or what what would fit etc etc ... but really, who does that?
The US had Aretha, the UK Dusty Springfield. We had Renée. She taught us all so much. She knew not only what music was, but where it came from. We had an inkling, but so much of it was so far away. It came drifting down to us over an ocean of radio waves. We had to wonder and learn. She already contained it within.
She showed us how to front a bunch of musicians, and how not to. Her voice had everything. Just everything. If beauty has a sound, it is the voice of Renée.
I hadn’t seen her for years, but we spent a little time together when she lived over here in LA. I didn’t know her well, but well enough for her to fall out with me. She didn’t speak to me for a couple of years. It didn’t matter, I still loved her, and after a while she just started talking to me again as if nothing had happened. Renée could be scary until you got to know her. And then she was really scary. She was funny, filthy, and if I managed to make her throw her head back and laugh, well, that was something.
This is a sad thing isn’t it? Just when we were processing the loss of Jeff Beck, this occurs.
What a woman, what a singer. She was at the top of the class, and long may she remain. The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.
If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?
By pure coincidence, this week I picked up a copy of a local newspaper which, for various reasons, I don't usually buy any more.
However, I bought this week's edition because there was an article I wanted to read and keep about a family friend who'd received a 'gong' (accolade) for community service.
In browsing the rest of the paper, I saw a bereavement notice for a well-known local journalist, part of which read ... '(he) lived to the end by his own 11th Commandment:
"One should always laugh - especially at thy self"'
I was bitterly disappointed to learn that this book is, in fact, an instructional guide to the profitable husbandry of ducks as a craft.
There is not one sliver of insight about holding ducks accountable for their crimes against humanity, Earth or whatever deity you may choose to follow.
There is a little town in central Queensland called Mercy. They have a specialty tea, which is made from koalas. They leave the fur on for some reason, and won’t strain it for you. They reckon that the koala tea of mercy is not strained.
There is a little town in central Queensland called Mercy. They have a specialty tea, which is made from koalas. They leave the fur on for some reason, and won’t strain it for you. They reckon that the koala tea of mercy is not strained.
There is a little town in central Queensland called Mercy. They have a specialty tea, which is made from koalas. They leave the fur on for some reason, and won’t strain it for you. They reckon that the koala tea of mercy is not strained.
Probably the funniest thing over the years of this here thread…
Thank you.
Now, working on the basis that one person's fish is another's poisson, I now return you to regular programming, and ask that you supply your own groans.
It may not be strictly correct, but why let truth get in the way of ... well, you know the rest.