The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

A Momentary Lapse of Reason 💗💔🖤💛

Way back in the day, during a much more footloose and fancy free period of world history before such phrases as social distancing and covfefe were introduced to the lexicon, I met a cute little kitten. That cute little kitten has since grown into a lioness. Learned that the hard way. The result of a hiccup in my better judgement, during a typical 2020 moment when I was all but convinced civilization was about to collapse tomorrow.

Late one night, The Demon Alcohol (who I haven’t danced with since) convinced me it would be a gas and a half to whip out my phone and drop that cute little kitten I used to know a seemingly innocent line. The response was a deluge of hitherto-unsaid accumulated rage unleashed upon me in a single email. Her words came straight from the cockles of her heart, and stung like hell. A kind of deep intensive stinging you don’t notice at first, but permeates your whole being down to the marrow once it finally hits you and decimates your libido for about forty-eight hours afterward. I would recover quickly from that burn, but hot damn. The woman definitely has skills. 

Invoking the wrath of a lioness is certainly nothing I would encourage anyone to try at home. But if one finds oneself in one of those situations where getting mauled by a lioness is unavoidable, at least that stinging feeling has given us all the best music. It is to the blues* what milk is to cheese.

*Country music, too. Arguably. But I just can’t get into that shit. The whole genre has been little more than teen pop with ten-gallon hats and Martin guitars since that week Miley Cyrus’ dad was famous. It also appeals to hyperconservative Trumpist types, which only adds to its yuck factor.


Buddy Guy works that muthuhfuckin fuzzbox like a magic wand.

The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

The Car Radio USB Port

Being able to plug five hundred gigabytes into a car. Is the greatest non-sexual feeling in the world. At least it is for now, until I inevitably get bored with it.


The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

A Celebration of the Virtual Impeachment

At this point, I’d like to take a moment to dance on the Twitter grave of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I was never one of his followers, and quite frankly I would’ve sooner nailed both my testicles to a tree than click on that now-defunct follow button. Still, every time somebody I follow posted a cheeky response to one of his tweets (which happened pretty much daily), I would see that menacing glower of a profile pic show up in my feed. You know the one. The sudden absence of that glower most certainly is a beautiful thing. Never have to burn my retinas looking at his cerebral diarrhea ever again, and I’m happier than a pig in shit.