Burned Out

The nite train has come to the end of the line. Kaput. Finished. There are no more tracks. Only the tracks of my tears. Yes, I am crying while typing these words, paragraphs, thoughts, etc.

I knew the end was near. Me and old Betsy [ my car ] were tooling home this week as usual. And we were both trying to think of new ideas for "Golden Pond." But try as we might, nothing constructive was forthcoming. A big blank. A zero. Nada.

We stalled for time by resurrecting old posts from yesteryear. Evidenced by the reprinting of "The Catfather," a blatant rip-off of "The Godfather." And "Father Knows Rest/Best."

You think it's easy writing these infantile forays? Hell, no it ain't easy.

And I've parodied every movie I've ever seen. There's hardly any new material out there. All the new flicks these days are about serial killers or computer-animated gems?

And I have no idea what's hot in music in 2004. Okay so the Vanilla Fudge are making another comeback. But they were 2 hit wonders in the late 60's.

I do recall their album circa 1968. On the front cover, a psychedelic art form, shades of Andy Warhol. And on the back cover, the 4 lads themselves. All scrubbed, clean- shaven, and wearing "mod" clothes. They looked like your average frat brother. They had the yuppie look before the yuppie look was invented.

I saw them in concert shortly thereafter. Gone were the guys in the photos. In their places were 4 guys who had transformed themselves into 4 long-hair hippie freaks. The organist had a bushy bushy blonde, er, black stringy beard, no shoes and no shirt. Damn. What had happened to the clean-cut guys? It was my initiation into the "love generation."

See what I mean. There is nothing left. Kaput. Finished. The wheels have come off the tracks. It is time to disembark the nite train. It has nothing left.

Farewell and adieu, v.c.

P.S. The Turtles once headlined shows back in the day. Iron Butterfly was the warmup band. Quite a difference in music styles. The crowd would come see the Butterfly and leave and/or boo the Turtles. Poor Flo and Eddie and Eleanor, who "gee, I think you're swell."