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No!" the doctor told Huey, "You are not opening for the Rolling Stones or anyone else until you have those tonsils out . . ."
Gravel
Not wanting to look arrogant, and being just a little rock band, the group decided on the name “Gravel . . .”
Rock, but no Roll
Even though they were rocks, and he had named them Jerry Lee, Chuck Berry, the Who, Elvis and, of course the Beatles, and–wait for it–the Stones, Jack’s eBay auction hadn’t brought the bidding war he had counted on . . .
The Hills Are Alive
Every morning, as the herd climbed up the slope to the grassy hillside to feed, Eunice (middle, skylined) would burst out with at best a fair version of “The hills are alive . . .” even though everyone was sick to death of that song, sung by anyone. Why couldn’t she change up to “Do You Know The Way To San Jose?,” “Satisfaction,” “Light My Fire”, “I’ve Got You Babe”, “Viva Las Vegas”, or even “I Was Born This Way”, or “The Hokey Pokey”–anything but “The Hills Are Alive . . .?”
Light My Fire
Herby always hummed as he worked in the yard, sometimes one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos–say, #6 in B flat–or Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five”, or the Rolling Stones’ “Harlem Shuffle”. For some reason, he just couldn’t get Jim Morrison and the Doors’ “Come On Baby, Light My Fire” out of his head tonight . . .