Burt, Billy, and Me, middle-aged sex and the tao
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Memories Are Made of This

When I hear music like this I'm transported back in time to a quiet afternoon spent in my grandpa's tavern: sipping fruity "pop" from 10 ounce glass bottles, trailing my fingers through the sand on the big long shuffleboard table, watching the moving waterfall on the big Hamm's clock on the wall behind the bar. This song was actually released the year I was born, but of course, it all ran together for me back then, just as it does now. 


Dean Martin, born June 7, 1917. 

That world is so distant now; another time and place, sure, but it feels practically like another dimension I can no longer get to. At least we still have the music, though. 

 (and it's a Dean Martin extravaganza at my right-brain Tumblr page today.)