This week I felt the true effects of summer’s immutable power. My eyelids got sunburnt.
This week I felt the true effects of summer’s immutable power. My eyelids got sunburnt.
As my post-pubescent lifestyle transitions into a post-nasal drip lifestyle I find myself sliding into third base on the eve of my 50th birthday (well, maybe not sliding…probably just trotting breathlessly). And as such I’ve realized that more than half the great rock and roll I’ve ever listened to is now suffering a tragic loss of its membership at a rate of about three superstars a week. That’s a boat load of rock stars paying the Ferryman to ride down the river Styx. Before you know it
the only viable old-timers left will be Chuck Berry, Chubby Checker and Little Richard. No offense to these three gents but that would signify a very sad state of affairs for music.
Every now and then, enough stuff piles up in my inbox to warrant a column of loose ends. Pictures and videos and tidbits of my life (and the lives of others) that get pushed aside to make way for other subjects that need my attention, but that I want to share with you at some point.
That point has been reached once again.
So, welcome to another edition of The Segarini Scrapbook….
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