on Buddy Holly's home tape recorder after he died, that person would see a growing sophistication in chord structure and melody and a growing emotional depth. Those are among my favorite Buddy songs.

I like the fact that many of Buddy's recordings are now available with the backing vocals erased and you hear pretty much what the songs were like when first recorded. I also like that both versions of That'll Be The Day and Maybe Baby are available.

I think Buddy would have taken even greater control over what got recorded and released and his music would have come to be recognized for the national treasure that it is.

It was Paul McCartney, in large part, that got Lubbock to formally recognize Buddy with a permanent memorial. Buddy was very big in the UK and his songs continued to chart for a number of years after the plane crash.

the Rolling Stones to contemplating how memory works.

There have been a few PBS programs about how the mind, including memory works, but, speaking of memory, I don't remember much of the content. I don't know if that says something about me or about the programs. However, I do remember that an event accompanied by strong emotion impresses itself on our memories. CDs of those shows may be available online.

I also remember something from Dr. Spock or some other alleged expert on child rearing to the effect that age 11 is a particularly bad time to change a boy's environment.

I will hazard a guess that you did not want to leave your Little League team and felt wrenched away from it when your family moved, a strong emotion that would have impressed your Little League team on your mind more than it was impressed on the minds of kids for whom it was simply the next thing to do in the process of growing up.

http://www.human-memory.net/

It seems that our memory is located not in one particular place in the brain, but is instead a brain-wide process in which several different areas of the brain act in conjunction with one another (sometimes referred to as distributed processing). For example, the simple act of riding a bike is actively and seamlessly reconstructed by the brain from many different areas: the memory of how to operate the bike comes from one area, the memory of how to get from here to the end of the block comes from another, the memory of biking safety rules from another, and that nervous feeling when a car veers dangerously close comes from still another. Each element of a memory (sights, sounds, words, emotions) is encoded in the same part of the brain that originally created that fragment (visual cortex, motor cortex, language area, etc), and recall of a memory effectively reactivates the neural patterns generated during the original encoding. Thus, a better image might be that of a complex web, in which the threads symbolize the various elements of a memory, that join at nodes or intersection points to form a whole rounded memory of a person, object or event. This kind of distributed memory ensures that even if part of the brain is damaged, some parts of an experience may still remain. Neurologists are only beginning to understand how the parts are reassembled into a coherent whole.

I appreciate Buddy Holly, but must admit I don't sing any of his songs (although I've played along on a few of them).

I have been doing this one of late... Sometimes called "Hey Buddy can you spare a dime" [video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHD28SsJfXk]

I found this at the automatic earth, which has now become, as I mentioned in another comment, my reliable source. This explains in such an elegant manner what my thoughts are today. Protests, fine, but where were we when the damage was being done. I was in my cosy life, how about you?

https://www.theautomaticearth.com/2017/02/unrest-is-the-only-growth-indu...

Looks like we have to strap ourselves in and ride out the chaos coming at us. And continue to mourn Bernie...sigh.

Hopkins sang.

My Little League memories sparkle inside a kaleidoscope of AM radio hits in the car, with my cotton baggy uniform on mimicking the Majors and all the colorful school kids from my neighborhood and nearby who were stars in our world.

Then adolescence hit and some of the better players went on to play together in the "traveling league." There, on the bench while we were up, we turned our attention to the hard rock bands of the day and which albums we had and shared our appraisals. When music wasn't dominating the talk we teenagers did a lot of regaling each other about smoking pot, chicks and oh yeah, kicking the other team's ass, which we did a lot of. We'd sleep over each other's houses and all the families were friendly with and supportive of each other.

Ah man, great days I could write about forever...

To tie up those two early loves there was a moment in my mid-late 20's, far removed from those halcyon days, when I was rehearsing with a band in Soho before it was overrun with boutique shopping, that brought it back into focus, while ironically being in a whole other world.

I was staying at the guitar player’s apartment occasionally and got an excited call from my parents saying that B, the catcher on my team of those days, is playing at Yankee Stadium right now for the Seattle Mariners, and just hit a ball to left center and stretched it out for a double! On the other end, I’m standing with shoulder length hair with a couple of natural dreads sprouting because I haven’t taken a comb to it in years, looking at the guitar player whose hair is dyed 2 or 3 different colors and loved to trip on mushrooms, and a few other downtown stragglers lazing on the couch. The bass player is "homeless," surfing from one girl's couch to another carrying not much else beside a book and a toothbrush, and the singer is a pretty boy given to episodes of self-mutiliation. But at that moment I’m completely transported away from that grungy rock scene of the Lower East Side back to the reverie and camaraderie of that scrappy team of punky suburban kids on the ball fields of Long Island - and my heart just soars.

I had lost touch with B when we all went away to college and many of us, including me, stopped playing ball, while he went on to play both football and baseball at a major college in the South. But I can remember clearly the many times on the field and hanging out at his or my house for sleepovers or going to a concert. He was such a standout catcher, a field general, fierce competitor. Many times I was on the receiving end of his rocket arm to make a sweeping tag coming in from the shortstop position to nail a guy trying to steal a base. We rode bikes together all over his or my town, and after midnight snuck out my window to grab a feel from the neighborhood hussy. He wanted to learn how to play drums so I showed him some beats and maybe how to play a simple Cars song. We went to see Rush together and to this day I think the bowl of weed we gleefully accepted from the older dude next to us was laced; I was in a slightly trippy state until the next day and after the show blissfully unaware of the snow cone melting all over my concert shirt, making the others laugh.

I haven’t seen him since then, when we were rollicking around together on the ball fields of our youth and in the exploration and mischief of our adolescence.

Years later I got the chance to tour with a pretty big named star. Like B, I too got to play in a few, similar hallowed places, when I got to take the stage at Radio City Music Hall and Red Rocks.

It gives me no unending pleasure and pride to think of those two boys together, with dreams of baseball and rock n roll, Summer brothers with a lust for life, who actually got to feel what it's like to live out their dreams for a moment.

Man, that was something.

I don't see what this is good for. Time is over to persuade Fox folks with reasonable arguments. Disappointed. He should not co-operate with Hannity-style media, imo. Enough is enough.
[video:https://youtu.be/L6Z_gFfgi5s]