Note: All my posts on the ’60s are gathered under “The ’60s,” above. Being a blog, these posts would normally be in reverse order, with the newest post on top. However, for this particular category, they are arranged with the oldest posts at the top in order to clarify the sequential nature of the posts. The newest posts will be at the bottom.
I’d never have thought anyone could compare with Etta James’ live version of this song with Dr. John, but this — oh my…
The entire Amsterdam concert (2018): www.youtube.com/watch?v=snD7sZZ4fG8
18 solar panels charge a Leaf battery bank that powers the electric motor. When battery runs low, a diesel generator kicks in to power the motor and extend the range.
It has a 1937 Willy’s front end and custom-made doors and grill.
Will be featured in our next book, Rolling Homes.
It’s for sale: SunRay@SunRay Kelley.com.
If you know of any unique road rigs, contact me at: lloyd@shelterpub.com
Mickey Murch rigged up his Rad pedal-assist electric bike to carry his hydrofoil surfboard. His son came along for the mile-long ride to the beach.
The board is in Axis 5’2″ 90 liter SUP with a 910 mm high aspect hydrofoil from Axis Foils
I love 3-part vocal harmony.
From Will Kahn, Burl Audio in Santa Cruz
Lesley’s friend Elizabeth sent this to her. I can’t find where it’s from, but it sure makes you happy.
Here’s to the great songwriter/poet/kick-ass country rocker Billy Joe Shaver, who left an incredible legacy of songs.
Just built this cozy little wood shed in Trinity County California. All the lumber is salvaged, all the stone was gathered within 500′. The door handle is made from African coral wood and white oak I had from another project. The tin roof and windows were in a cache of reusable materials found on the old homestead. I believe the hinges were the only item purchased.
–J. Hemlock
By Vasco Gargalo, a Portuguese cartoonist, born in 1977 in Vila Franca de Xira, Portugal
From Tomas Pastalka
Developments Since My Birth
By Wallace Shawn
Trump has liberated a lot of people from the last vestiges of the Sermon on the Mount. A lot of people turn out to have been sick and tired of pretending to be good.
October 27, 2020
New York Review of Books
I wonder if anyone but me remembers that during the years after the end of World War II, there were a lot of US Army jeeps on the streets of New York. I was a very little boy at the time, and I remember being lifted up to sit in them by friendly GIs. And do you remember those photographs of the American soldiers as they were being hugged and kissed by the thin, desperate-looking Europeans whose cities they’d liberated? Do you remember those warm, sunny American faces? Those sincere, open faces? Those boys looked like gods or angels who had swooped down from the sky on their jeeps to save the terrified world. Everything they’d actually done during the war, everything they’d seen — the hand-to-hand combat, the firebombing of cities, the piles of corpses — it was all swept away in the glow of victory.
And for the next twenty years, we were dazzled by the never-abating, mind-boggling cascade of prosperity and consumer magic lifting up the middle class. Political speeches overflowed with generosity and altruism. Were people said to be suffering somewhere in America? Were people suffering anywhere on earth? Our politicians won votes by promising to help them. Americans seemed addicted to the feeling that their country represented goodness, decency, and kindness in a world where evil had almost prevailed.
