That's the name of one of those songs that gets stuck in the oil pan of your mind and will never leave, no matter how often you flush the system. It's by The Who, 1965, back in the day when I listened to popular music. (Now I prefer unpopular music. Morton Feldman, anyone?)
Anyway, the kids hanging out up and down Delmar Boulevard during the ice festival were alright, be they goofy or serious. Note the thrill of the tyke on an ice slide and the glove on the left hand of the yo yo master, the better to do tricks without losing a finger.
Burning Question Of The Day: what will Mrs. C and I do for our annual Stupid Bowl party tonight? As long-time readers know, we dislike American football, a game that destroys the bodies and brains of the players for the amusement of the masses, then throws them out. Perhaps 150,000,000 of us will watch the game tonight, often at big parties. We've been going out to dinner during the event for perhaps 25 years. We're thinking Afghan but haven't made a final decision.
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