To The Best Of My Recollection

The way I remember it, I first heard heard I Won't Get Fooled Again by the Who when I was in the eight grade. I also fell in love with Led Zepplin after hearing a new song called Black Dog. I bought the 45, then the album Led Zepplin IV. It's funny how there is still power in those songs when I hear them. I think it's more than nostalgia. I've always felt that I wasn't such a sucker for the sentimentality of the past, but I am a romantic, there does seem to be some conflict. I'll admit to listening to Lou Reed's A Perfect Day thinking back on a day that seemed perfect with a woman that I felt like I like was in love with, but now her memory isn't as clear the song lyrics. I said for years that I Won't Get Fooled Again should be blasting at my funeral. I've also requested second rate comics and dubious parlor tricks. I won't know what's going on, so have at it.

I guess I am a sucker for the sentimental and the nostalgic. I still love what I think of as classic rock. I just love it when I hear something that digs deeper than the standard commercially represented standard fare. I love to hear a Hendrix song that makes me think back to my dig for more than what all the other kids were listening to, the lesser known pieces. I was the only kid I remember who tried to find value in Yoko Ono after the Beatles split. She was very unpopular at the time in populist circles. My search led me to John Cage, Stockhausen, Fluxus, Zen Buddhism, contemporary art and an eventual reexamination of Yoko as an artist.

Sunday I rode my bike over to the Orlando Museum Of Art with Jane. We went to see the Norman Rockwell exhibit. I'm a freelancer at the museum and have been resistant to Rockwell. Lately I've given him a more thorough look, Jane and I listened to the long lecture by a distinguished expert, I think that's how she was introduced, along with educational credentials. The lecture was mostly anecdotal, but gave some insight to a man who was apparently more thoughtful than I thought. He was an active participant in the civil rights movement. There are some very moving works on display, there are plenty of others that strike me as the Americana that I think seems more wishful than actual.

After the lecture that was more accommodating in content than length, Jane and I may have been a little hasty in passing through the exhibit, we were hungry. We rode to my house and ate a late lunch. It was a nice day. I took a break from my cynicism and thought who cares if I'm sentimental, nostalgic or whatever.