Yesterday was my sister Beth's 50th birthday, and I sent her this tasteful e-card featuring the late, great Jack Lord in full-on McGarrett mode:
Note: "Mike" is the "M" in "JM." Well, actually, it's "Michael," but I digress.
Anyway, she wrote me today that she doesn't feel a day over 16. I can relate, although I've had to move on from playing the eternal adolescent, what with fatherhood and trying to keep the wolves from the door and all that. Emotionally, I'm at least 18 now.
My sister's birthday yesterday reminded me that today is the birthday of my best friend from grade school, John Portolese. I will always be grateful to John for having hipped me to the early work of Alice Cooper (the band, that is, with the original, classic line-up of Alice, Glenn Buxton, Michael Bruce, Dennis Dunaway, and Neal Smith).
Of late, I've been digging a couple of bootlegs from their early '70s heyday, Live at the Paramount, Seattle 1971 (the Love It to Death tour) and Killered in Pittsburgh '72 (featuring live renditions of the songs from my all-time fave Alice LP, Killer, hence the title), and waxing nostalgic about skipping school on Ash Wednesday '73 to purchase Killer at the local drugstore, and writing my first play, Alice Cooper Versus the Blob, under its influence.
Rock on, dudes.