FINGERING THROUGH THE PAST

I'm in my office, taking stock of the crap I've accumulated over the past sixty years.  Anybody want a copy of Iron Butterfly's In-a-Gadda-da-Vida?  No?  Me neither.

Ooh, look: 45's.  Actually, some of these are pretty cool.  I got, like, plenty of Beatles, Stones, Dave Clark Five.  Hey, here's Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs singing Wooly Bully.  I love the dust jackets on the 45's.  A few of these things are worth some serious dough, I think. I've got a Monkees 45 that was never supposed to be released.  Guess the powers that beed (that's the past tense of 'be') didn't like certain connotations, eh?  Fuck 'em.  She hangs out... and looks fucking good doing it.

I also own underwear that (likely) dates from the late fifties.  (And probably some panties I snagged in a raid.)  But that's not in my office.  I keep all the important stuff in an undisclosed location near the Elm Street Bridge.

Did I mention I've still got most of my hair?  Yee-gad!  Some of these pictures show me with hair half-way down my back.  (That's called beating the system and stickin' it to the man.  Groovy?  Fuckin' right.)

Jeebus.  Here's a harmonica (in E).  And another one in A.  These are from the late 60's, when we used to jam.

Man, I'm loaded.  I'm gonna hit 'publish'; grab another brewski; and bid y'all a good night.