Music and more with claudecat17 (aka Chris Davlin)!

Greetings to any non-existent/quantum based entity that might happen upon this post here on a tiny blog that despite fresh content daily gets almost no views and certainly no comments or likes. That may have been a run-on sentence, but nobody will ever know! See how that works? I can write whatever the fuck I want, about anything, and nobody will ever be the wiser. Have you ever been the wiser? Not me.

I’m aiming this post directly at the pastry-like coif that sits atop one Mr. Conan O’Brien’s big square head. From there the hope is that it finds purchase and can somehow burrow its way into the squishy parts inside this man’s well educated and often hilarious brain. Well, not his brain so much as his mind. The part that we enjoy so much due to the quick-wittedness combined with a lifetime of TV absorption. He and I are nearly the same age, so we share the same lifetime of TV and other media being there for us in times of need. By that I mean all day every day.

The similarities don’t end there dear nebulous specter, no! We both play guitar too! And while he likes rockabilly best and I’m more of a blues/jazz guy, there’s a lot of rockabilly I love too, like this tune, which I first became aware of by way of one of my all time favorite bands, NRBQ, who were based in the east, New England I think mostly, and were likely on Mr. O’Brien’s show(s) over the years. I’m betting he, a native of New England himself, even remembers parts of that. Good brain, remember? We covered that!

So what this post really is is a not so subtle attempt to break through the walls of security that Mr. O’Brien normally exists behind (fuck you proper grammar!), the hope being that this ultra-excellent example of his favorite music genre will pierce the veil of Lucky Charm marshmallows, now with sentience, that protects him and his trusted staff at all times. NOT that Bley guy that talks about fucking games and bad bad movies and shit endlessly. I hate that motherfucker! I believe Mr. O’Brien does as well, or would if allowed to by his nice guy persona. So cuddly! Bley? Not cuddly at all, and he probably smells too. Where was I?

Oh yeah, the tune! See, this is a rockabilly tune that has it all. Great song first of all. A simple ditty with lyrics that are fun and evocative of stereotypical 50s male youth action of the cool variety. Fast cars, hair cream, lipstick that causes things to swell, two in one polish, Three-In-One oil, an actual brand name! This guy Jimmy shops! For oil anyway.

Jimmy’s real last name was Logsdon, but record weasels gonna weasel so it was Jimmy Lloyd that had the hits, made the records, had the fun. Just look at him! You can tell this man knew how to enjoy lots of things! A few I might regret knowing about, but hey… We all have our idiosyncrasies, right? So I like Clark bars! You wanna make something of it, bub? I thought so… Live and let live I say!

And boy oh boy will this one get you livin‘! Yeah buddy! You’ll be movin’ and a groovin’, and whatever the next line of that is, followed by the hey-yeah! Was it the Big Bopper? My brain says… yes! Didn’t even have to look it up. Facts like these have replaced critical things like the ability to write in cursive and any memory of how to play cribbage, so you’re welcome!

So without more than a little further ado, I give you, all zero of you, or 1/13th of a visitor to be embarrassingly accurate, the great Jimmy Logsdon, acting as Jimmy Lloyd at the behest of music weasels (the worst kind by far), singing the immortal rockabilly classic, as lovingly covered decades later by the great NRBQ, “I Got a Rocket in My Pocket”, from the year 1958.

Turn it up as loud as mom lets you! Prance around the room, but please, no dancing. That’s how the trouble starts, right? The Jets, the Sharks, the fucking knives! Don’t dance, ever, and that concern goes away. Enjoy!

See? How fucking awesome was that? Yeah! I know! Thanks for saying that! What now? She’s a what now? Aww, hell no….

Aaand we’re back, me and the 1/13th thing, safe now from pretend pummeling by pretend theater nerds. That woulda been embarrassing! Now, I’m fairly certain that Mr. O’Brien would not normally happen upon this place, as is the case with the rest of humanity with the exception of 1/13th guy/thing. So I’ll need help from you! That’s you, 1/13th guy/thing! Look alive motherfucker! It’s up to you to find a way to get this piece seen by people that Mr. O’Brien listens to. Then they can tell him in no uncertain terms of what’s at stake here, which is a 65 year old music nerd’s self esteem, that’s all. Nothing I’ll ever need or use.

So go forth, be resourceful, stealthy, aware at all times of risk. For few succeed when it comes to delivering Mr. O’Brien’s precious pastrami sandwiches and books on tape, the naughty ones. It’ll be even harder getting this song past the leprechaun themed security, but I have faith in you, ol’ 1/13th. Greatness lurks within you. I can taste it! It’s like a Vienna Sausage! Everyone our age loves those! Right out of the can!

In partial seriousness, I’m just a 65 year old weirdo musician/guitar seller who’s getting ready to move back to my real home after decades of stupidity and exile of sorts. I know a shit ton about music, emphasis on blues and jazz, but lots more too. I’m having a life crisis currently as I watch myself slowly go bankrupt thanks to moronic buyers and shipping errors, all beyond my control. I’m perfect! It’s all their faults!

What I’m doing in writing this is sorta auditioning, for a future doing anything but dealing with Ebay or the number 13, which frankly does give me the heebies. Not the jeebies, oddly enough. Weird. Scary. I believe I have talent as a welder, so hire me! Before I go broke! I have several guitars to offer! Nobody’s buying shit anyway, so they’re yours kind sir. By now I feel I’ve gotten through the gauntlet of Lucky Charm marshmallows and am speaking directly with the orange haired king of all things late night, or Late Night. Hi!

OK, now let’s get down to it. I know this song isn’t nearly cool or obscure or psycho enough to rock your well curated billy. But you can’t deny that it’s a great one either, so a point for me! Furthermore, the joy that you and your shows have brought to me over the years is incalculable! And laughter is good for you, so I’m only alive because of you! I need to thank you in person, so a job on the show or in some other capacity would be neato. Do you still have a show? I hear the podcast but nobody answers…

That’s all I have. Incidentally, I whipped this whole thing up in maybe 45 minutes, from idea to post. That’s speed comedy right there! The next big thing! Get on board early for just a few grand, the total of my debt, as any one of the collection folks will gladly tell you. It’ll be nice to see the ol’ credit score above 534 again. It seems to like it there. Hasn’t gone lower despite added late time.

Maybe there’s a limit? Have I achieved a world record?!? Well shit! Y’all better book me immediately! Signing off, and hope you enjoy the tune! I have a Chinese tele copy just for you when we finally meet. Thanks for reading! I refuse to say peace out because that’s fucking stupid, beneath you for sure, so stop doing that please. That tele’s a nice red shade not unlike the croissant we all know and love so well. The wood grain shows right through, like your veins!

I’ll belabor this for just one final paragraph, in which I complain about the difficulty of typing “Mr. O’Brien”, something I have made a point of doing consistently here out of respect and a little fear. Mostly respect. It’s a real pain in the ass typing that, as I’m sure you know. At least you avoid the Mr. part. It’s the last name that gets irritating. I mean, you gotta hold down the shift key, TWICE!!! And there’s the little punctuation thingie too, a whole ‘nother shift key press on most keyboards! It’s like a fucking triathlon just typing your name! I’ll be demanding something for that, maybe teeth, as requested in a prior attempt to reach you via the email thingie. So you’ve already ignored me, or your henchmen/women have! And now the whole degree of typing difficulty thing… You’re a lot, y’know? Yeah, I figured you did.

Just one last sentence now, to say that no, I’m not insane. I’m very real, just in financial distress. Neurons and synapses began sizzing and dripping months ago, but I’m alright, aside from the hernia and the teeth. But do something man! Have you no heart?!?

Bye!