Then, Donny Burkman and I had made paintings
of abstract art by the simple expedient of floating oil-based paints atop the water in the bathtub, and dragging large cardboard through the oils. Donny and I were considerably happier with this art than was my mother, whose bathtub we’d used.
The first appeal of my basement hippy pad was that it was not in the house, so teen angst and sensibility were hidden, as is proper. Gone to ground, you might say.
The second appeal was that I could listen to records without comments or volume requests, as is cool, man.
Ray Charles and the Raylettes were a favorite. Boy, didn’t they shake that thing?
Ray today, gone tomorrow.
Ray Charles died today. Damn! First Miles, now Ray.
What’d I say?