I dunno about you guys, but I’ve got some serious booty shakin’ goin’ on today! (Actually, that’s a lie, and merely a cheap SEO tactic.)

While riding into work on the 7 today I happened to peek into an empty conductor car and see this list of radio codes. This is not all that interesting, but it is useful, because the next time I hear a subway conductor announce “COMMAND CENTER 12-8” I know to really freak out.

So lately I’ve been thinking about Woodstock and how the hippies ruined everything. Also, I was thinking about how while Woodstock was in the works, the MC5 recorded Kick Out the Jams, and while it was literally occurring, the Stooges released their debut album, on which two of their greatest songs appear–“No Fun” and “I Wanna Be Your Dog.”

Meanwhile, the Monks and the Sonics had already formed, released records, and broken up! And the Velvet Underground, who nobody cares about, were recording shit too I guess.

The point is*, the above is what should be considered the heavenly rewards of the late 60s–not some effete mudbog gathering so uncool** that even Jethro Tull declined to perform.

And if you think that’s a weak argument, remember: it’s Woodstock that’s ultimately to blame for shit like this.

Oh, and only peripherally related, but the periphery is where I spend a lot of my time:
You wanna know something else that’s celebrating an important anniversary? This chestnut about how there’s traces of coke on paper money. Yeah, I seem to recall reading that 20 years ago in Bigger Secrets. Lame, no-story story. Is there a shortage of shark-bite-kids-die-in-hot-cars or something?

*This, by the way, is an odd conversational tic that both my father and Richard Yates have, and it’s a phrase meant to punctuate a narrative that has no actual point whatsoever.
**CCR and Sha Na Na, of course, were the lone cool folks.
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