Tag: Motown

Can This Old Broad Parade Down The Avenue in the Woodward Dream Cruise?

“Next year, Ferrari’s ass is mine!” Carroll Shelby

Our daily activities always seem to change with the years.

Young; school. Teen years; hanging out. Married; chauffeuring kids, fifties; empty nester activities, sixties; travel and visiting grandchildren, seventies; doctor appointments. If you’re lucky and reach your eighties and nineties, whatever you can physically handle. Anyone noticing the driving theme here?

The one constant in your daily activities has and always be, transportation. We move about daily from place to place doing, accomplishing and living.

There is however one little difference as all this movement is a constant in our lives.

Young zoom zoom. Older, OY!

At my age I‘ve noticed my body is now like an old car that spends most of its time in the repair shop.

Sure, there are more spare parts available now. New knees, hips, shoulders, hearts, kidneys, etc, etc. Being Bionic would seem to be the perfect way to keep this old clunker running at optimum speed. Yet for some reason, it doesn’t seem to do exactly what’s promised.

Hmm, this new knee is a little better for sure. The pain isn’t so bad now and I can almost do what I used to…and yet. Nope I can’t run a mile, I can’t hop over fences and Lord knows I can’t leap over tall buildings at a single bound.

Okay so I couldn’t do those things before my knee went bad, but still shouldn’t a brand-new part work like new and inspire me?

Shouldn’t my hip let me twist the night away and allow me to beat someone to the black cashmere sweater on the sale rack at Bloomie’s? Yet I’m not seein’ it.

What I am seeing is that every time I replace one part on my body another part becomes jealous and wants to get a new makeover too.

After my knee was done my hip started complaining.

“I’m not working so hard anymore. Let your new knee carry the burden. It’s new and state of the art, I’m old and tired, so screw you.” Nice talk from a hip I pampered for years.

But this isn’t about body shaming, it’s about body bitching.

I know as we age things break down a bit, but perhaps it’s because I’m from Detroit that I see things in terms of cars.

Years ago it wasn’t uncommon to see old cars broken down alongside the road. People had abandoned or simply given up fixing them over and over. No matter how much they tried to bring them back to life they never seemed to have the old get up and go. It simply got up and went. I get that.

So I became certain that fixing and repairing old cars wouldn’t achieve the desired result. Perhaps we should all just force that door open and accept that newer cars would drive past us as though we were standing still.

That is until I went home years ago and spent the day with my brother watching the Woodward Avenue Dream Cruise.

In case you aren’t from Detroit and have no idea what I’m talking about, I shall explain.

It happens one day a year in August when those who have spent oodles of money refurbishing classic cars parade them down Woodward Avenue in the Motor City. Over 40,000 cars show up from places as far away as Australia. They proudly display the original beauty of cars like a GTO or classic Corvette as they cruise the avenue while auto fans admire their handiwork.

I must admit it’s pretty impressive to see the way these old cars shine and perform like dogs at the Westminster Kennel show.

It’s as if they know it’s their day to show off for the masses and they do so proudly.

The two-tone cars, the muscle cars, the luxury, and not so much all seem to have the same glow about them.

Inside and out they sparkle like they were showroom new.

It’s not just the fact they look amazing; it’s the amount of work that obviously goes into the process. The love it took, but most of all the memories they provoke.

Because Detroiters seem to measure years in car stats, the conversation will turn to, “I remember when Chevrolet added the 409 V8 engine to the Impala Super Sport in 1961.” Or someone tell his friend “What a thrill it was when my father let me drive that Ford Fairlane two-tone blue and white on my first date with my wife.” Or, “Seriously was anything cooler than a Shelby AC Cobra?”

You might see that dreamy ‘56 pink T-Bird you never stopped wishing for. Or Ford savior Lee Iacocca’s original Mustang convertible you begged for when you got your license.

Or someone say, “Oh my goodness I learned to drive in that Chrysler with the push button controls.”  Or find yourself tearing up as you realize your cousin who was murdered had that ultra-cool blue Chevelle.Motowners,

Cars aren’t just something to drive to a Detroiter. Motowners measure their life experiences in terms of makes and models. I imagine most people do the same from other cities, but it’s not the same. Cars are in the DNA of the Motor City. Even if you leave Motown the cars never leave you.  

I went on a date with a man to see Ford Versus Ferrari. I was so engrossed and happy watching all the players I recognized from my youth, and of course I cried at the sad ending. Then I looked over and my date was sleeping. “You liked that movie?” He asked when he woke up. Needless to say, we parted ways.

Sure, to some cars are just metal and rubber, but to us they are the keeper of the memories. But as we age, they are much more.

They are a symbol of what we were and might become again. Youth, vitality, excitement.

Seeing an old Corvette sparkling like a showroom diamond restores one’s belief maybe some new parts and taking the time to fix ourselves up, we might look and feel like we just drove off the assembly line. Could zoom zoom still be in our future? I’m revving up my engine to give it a shot. Anyone know where I could find a pink ‘56 T-Bird?

How to Put Pedal to The Metal Your Way

“Gonna dance, gonna fly, take a chance riding high, before my numbers up. I’m gonna fill my cup, I’m gonna live til I die… Frank Sinatra song I’m Gonna Live Til I Die.

So the other night I dreamed I was young and as I was luxuriating in the glow of youth I was jolted awake by a pain in my leg. “Ouch,” I yelled and woke up to rub the cramp out while trying desperately to recapture the dream. No such luck. Reality interfered with my moment of recovered youth.
I could have used the words from Don’t Rain on my Parade in the intro but in California rain is a blessed event so I chose old blue eyes instead. Same message.

Oh ,sure you think, she’s complaining about getting old again? Okay, I admit I do discuss aging a lot, but when constantly confronted with the realization the world thinks I’m older than Methuselah, it can play with your head.

The other day my brother asked me if I still drive. Well since my jetpack is in the shop now for repairs I’m using my car to get around. What is he talking about?

What am I one-hundred years old? Is he kidding? Why on earth would he think I don’t drive. I’d bet my last dollar I’m a better driver than he is.

I have no intention of not driving until I can’t reach the pedals anymore.

It’s moments like these that make me feel like people are looking at me like I just sat up in a coffin.

Isn’t it bad enough I’m starting to look like the crypt keeper, do I have to act that way as well?

I’ve seen people well into their nineties, driving, playing pickleball and actually living as though they still were alive.

Am I wrong or what’s the point of being here if you’re not living?

I just heard about a very famous and powerful man that remarried recently at the age of 93.

Okay, I thought but why not just live together? Then I read more and learned that he chose to live his life and make decisions as though he were still a young man with all the time in the world. Wow, what a concept. It’s a way of looking at life as though you can accomplish anything. Choosing your own destiny and not succumbing to the time-is-running-out theorists. Great attitude.

I wasn’t raised that way. My parents kept their cars for ten years because they thought they were getting too old to buy a new one. They lived well into their nineties so a new car would have gotten enough use.

I do find myself slipping into that mindset occasionally. Should I buy a new chair or is this one still okay?

I need to readjust my thinking. I’ll buy that new chair. If I were twenty years younger, would I? Yes, then why not now?

Do we get to a point in life where we make calculated decisions based on statistical insurance tables of life expectancy? And should we? Or should we live, dream, act and think like we’re still thirty and have a lifetime ahead of us?

I say go for it. I am. From now on I’m living like I’m young, strong, tough and operating on all eight cylinders. Hey I know it’s car talk, but I’m a Motown girl you know.

What matters most in the end, others expectations for our lives or ours?

So many people are fortunate enough to keep achieving and reaching new goals well into their nineties. Baby Boomers are coming into our stride.

Gone is the day when we had to retire to Boca and play Maj Jong all day. Although some days I admit that’s a plan I can live with.

I just think we buy into others beliefs about us instead of our own.

No one should ever set limits on another person because it’s up to only us how we choose to live.

My brother asking if I still drive plants a seed that signals, I think you’re old and can no longer function as you once did.

Of course he’s eleven years younger so to him I seem old as dirt.

But isn’t it how I seem to me that actually matters.

Of course our choices do become a bit more limited physically as we age. I’m well aware that climbing ladders and running a marathon isn’t in my wheelhouse. Yet mentally if we can think young, we can stay young.

In many ways we are freed up to do those things we didn’t have time for when younger.

Sit at the beach and dangle our feet in the water. Except in LA where you have to fight for a spot on the sand with the homeless and the criminals. But maybe somewhere else.

We can take up a hobby we always dreamed of like cooking, painting or pottery and discover a hidden talent. Didn’t Grandma Moses begin painting at ninety something?

We can spend more time with our grandchildren and take an interest in their hobbies.

It actually is a mindset after all. Living our best life is for only us to discern. Not those who see us as old and in decline.

I intend to drive like Mario Andretti well into my golden years.

I am planning on new adventures, accomplishments and reaching new goals.

We have paid a lifetime of dues. Wouldn’t it be silly not to keep enjoying our membership until we decide to quit the club?

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago Or Else!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago

As you, my readers know I stay clear of politics. Probably because nausea sets in whenever I am forced to deal with the insanity that has now become normal in this country. However, sometimes I can’t resist making fun of the stupidity of politicians who are so pathetic and inept the comedy material simply writes itself. Every so often the comedian in me just can’t be held down.

On the news today I heard that in Chicago the city is asking gang members to limit their shooting and killing to certain hours. I believe the bullets can fly from 9 P.M. until 9 A.M. I assume this is because innocent little children are constantly getting caught in the crossfire.

Upon hearing this I immediately realized how vital it is for those who live in or visit Chicago to know the correct time.

I mean if your watch broke or is even off by one minute you could find yourself caught in a gang war in the midst of a hail of bullets.

I mean what if Gramps is sitting on his porch on a summer night and he’s a bit hard of hearing? His wife yells, “Grandpa, it’s one minute to nine. Come on in the house.”

“What’s that, Dear? I can’t hear you.”

“I said it’s almost time to come into the house, it’s almost nine.”

“Huh, I can’t hear you. Did you say…”

“Grandpa, Grandpa…?”

If Grandpa’s hearing aid were working he’d be here to celebrate Christmas this year.

So, I was thinking maybe the city of Chicago should open up hearing aid centers and watch repair shops on every corner. Like Kiosks in a mall you could even have them chasing people down the street.

“Hey would you like me to check your watch, Mister. I’ve got a beauty here on sale guaranteed to work to the second. Gunshot proof.” And here’s a free sample of hand cream.”

It could be a great way to bring businesses back to the areas of Chicago people are afraid to step foot into anymore. I can see the businesses cropping up all over. ABC hearing aids or Save-a-life watch repair. My goodness the opportunities are endless for out of work Chicagoans.

People could go door to door selling watches and hearing aids like aluminum siding. There is definitely money to be made here.

Gang members would have to clock in at nine P.M. and out at nine A.M. to ensure they were following the rules. That would mean setting up time clocks everywhere. If a gang member is killed someone else could punch his time card. More business for time clock manufacturers. This could be a windfall.

If Paul Revere had had to ride through Chicago yelling the “Gangs are Coming!” we’d still be under British rule today.

Of course, parents would have to teach children to tell time before they could walk. Instead of learning their ABCs they would need to learn how to read a watch. In the cribs they could have teddy bears that sing and teach time. Maybe to the tune of Allan Sherman’s camp song, Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh.

“Hello baby, it is nine now. Run like hell out of the ghetto. Get to safety and speed your rolls. Cause Chicago politicians are big assholes. So hightail it far away. If you want to live to see another birthday. Your parents voted for a loser. So until he’s gone we’ll pray that you see two, Sir.”

So what’s your solution, Norma you ask? Rightfully so and I do have one. I think the Mayor should be forced to walk alone through the crime-ridden neighborhoods every night without any weapons or body guards. Oh, and without a watch so he’ll know what little kids are dealing with.

Odds are they’d have to get a new mayor more often, but eventually maybe they’d actually elect one that believed murdering children was a bad thing. A refreshing change of pace for that city.

Being from Detroit I saw a city die and fifty-six years later just begin to become safe and livable again. I never thought it would happen to Chicago.

We used to visit the windy city a great deal when my kids were young. It was close by and easy to access by car. The hotels, shopping and food was always great.

Strangely enough it’s close enough to Motown for them to have seen firsthand what happened when crime overtook cars as Detroit’s biggest export.

I made light of the horrible circumstances of that toddling town as Sinatra called it, in this blog. But hearing about children dying as they walk to school, play in their houses or on their front porches is more than any human being can bear. I just couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Maybe one day the people of Chicago will wake up and elect politicians who care about the lives of young people, but until then asking gangs to kill each other at odd hours just doesn’t seem like a very good plan. At least without checking your watches. So ironic that a city that boasts its lake wind is the Hawk is actually too chicken to protect its own kids.

I guess all we can do is eat, so here is my keto Chicago Hot Dog recipe I enjoy greatly and is easy to make. If you live in Chi-town, you can definitely get it finished cooking before nine.

Chicago Style Hot Dog Keto Style

One all beef hot dog

Chopped tomato about ¼ cup or sliced tomato

a spear or two of dill pickle

a hot pepper cut up

celery salt

mustard

a keto friendly tortilla shell, keto bun or romaine. lettuce for a wrap.

Prepare all and enjoy!

How to Lose Your Mind: Just Watch the News



  Hot Off The Can You Believe This One News Service               

If Baby Boomers think the world has gone crazy I’m guessing there’s a good reason. The news today is so out there I found it difficult to top the actual regular occurrences one sees in and on the news nowadays.

But I tried so if I’m not that far off from reality it’s because my imagination isn’t even as crazy as our planet anymore. And that’s really saying something!

After watching the news today and learning that Budweiser Beer is now being marketed by a transwoman, I just knew it would be impossible to top that one.

Have the heads of Budweiser been drinking beer laced with LSD? Hello, who do the fools there think is drinking that swill?  Guess what, it’s working guys who watch football, construction workers who yell “hey chicky chicky” to passing women and WWE fans, that’s who. Not the Ru Paul’s Drag Race crowd. And yes I do love that show.

I believe the news also reported guys were pouring their Buds down the toilets and shooting guns at cans of beer. You know they must be mad when they waste a brew. This isn’t about transgender or woke folks; it’s about knowing your customer. Somebody hired the wrong marketing person and it’s going to be wild when Budweiser wakes up and sees the money they’ve lost, and sadly their shareholders as well.

If Budweiser ‘s competition is smart they’ll drag Clint Eastwood out of retirement to hawk their brew. Too bad they can’t dig up John Wayne.

Aside from corporate blunders and shall I even mention the new Coke debacle, I began thinking about all the crazy things you hear on the news and how people must react to them and I tried to top what I heard with my own breaking newswire.

It wasn’t easy, but I love a challenge.

Here’s a breaking news story from the Norma Zager news of the insane news service…

Cows Ask: Where is the Real Stench Coming From?

Elsie and Elmer Borden, America’s spokes cows gave an exclusive interview today in Dairyland Magazine and stated their profound shock at the new Green Deal proposal.

“Mitigate my farts and burps,” Elmer cried. “I have been flatulating and burping in these fields for fifty years and no one is going to tell me when I can pass gas. This is a free country and gas mitigation is outlawed in our constitution.

Wife Elsie was less adamant the controversial proposal would be unwelcome.

“It might be nice to smell some fresh air for a change,” she said. “I just wish Elmer could see his way to mitigate on a voluntary basis. I am not in favor of passing laws to govern bodily functions.”

The Cows Against Insanity or CAI released a statement in reaction to the proposal. “We have always believed a cow’s bodily functions are their own business and cannot abide this new initiative. We will take it to the Supreme Court if we must to protect the integrity of a cow’s right to expel their methane.”

Members of CAI organized a stink in on the grounds of the state’s largest dairy farm, but cameramen had trouble getting close enough to photograph or interview anyone because of the noxious odor and methane gases.

A CAI spokesman in a gas mask read a prepared statement vowing to never back down or allow cows to get backed up from such a legislative effort and said they have already raised enough to battle this in court for years.

The ninth circuit court in California heard an urgent flatulence ban request from the Green Movement seeking an immediate injunction against the cows and CAI. The court issued a decision against gas emitting rights stating, “Cow flatulence is not a right noted in the U.S. constitution and the good of the Green Movement trumps a cow’s colon expulsions.”

CAI immediately issued an appeal and threatened a strike against McDonalds, Burger King and White Castle.

Cluck USA, the chicken’s union has offered to march in support of the cows and will begin with a sit-in in front of all the Chick-Fil-A restaurants in Manhattan.

“What’s next?” Chicken Little president of Cluck USA asked. “Telling us when we can lay or not lay? We have to stop this oppression now.” She also called on other farm animal groups to join in the strike.

However, Turkey Lurkey III was hesitant to enlist the turkey union’s support.

“We have tried in vain to get CAI and Cluck USA to march with us before Thanksgiving to stop turkey oppression, now the fart is on the other foot. We cannot in good conscience ask our members to support their cause.”

Chicken Little called Turkey Lurkey a crybaby claiming chickens are on the menu every day of the year.

“Too bad for turkeys who find themselves in hot gravy once a year. This is bigger than our petty differences. This goes to the heart of an animal’s right to pass gas, to burp and to live as they wish and be responsible for their own digestive systems. We are taking this very seriously and no plucking way will we back down.”

Numerous sit-ins and gas-ins are planned over the next few weeks as an appeal is filed with the Supreme Court.

McDonalds and Burger King could not be reached for comment, but a Chick-Fil-A spokesman issued a short statement of support.

“All God’s creatures have rights and a cow’s expulsions are no one else’s business. A cow’s flatulence is between him and his God.”

Elmer the Cow was more heated in his response. “I dare the members of Congress that concocted this craziness to come down here themselves and actually smell how much this proposal stinks. Our gasses can’t compare with the stench coming from Congress, and I say, deodorize your own house first, lawmakers. Americans have endured the stink from your bull crap for far too many years.”

Congress was unavailable for comment while their offices were being fumigated from their own noxious stenches.

Another breaking news story from Norma’s can you believe this one newswire…

President Joe Biden to miss King Charles III Coronation.

Joe Biden will sit out the King of England’s coronation choosing instead to attend the opening of a new 31 Flavors ice cream shop in the nation’s capital. Biden who has been asked to throw out the first scoop explained his decision to a passing child.

“Hey Man, nothing comes between me and my Calvins or is that chocolate chips. Jill where’s Jill? Which way is the ice cream?”

Buckingham Palace could not be reached for comment.

        And finally hot off the presses this week…

Angry Baby Boomers March on Washington

Baby Boomers marched on Washington this week sporting Dick Clark masks chanting, “Give us back our country and our sanity.” Speakers called for an end to social influencers, Cancel Culture and Gluten-free bread while others burned their Spanx in front of the capital building.

The march was in response to a Baby Boomer at the DMV responding to the question of her sex with a resounding, I’m a woman. She was pounced upon by an angry crowd who shouted insults and called her binary phobic.

Recent studies have shown that anger levels of Baby Boomers about the country’s craziness are climbing to dangerous levels and one man was dragged away screaming, “I don’t want to be woke, I’m retired and can sleep in now. I never had to lock my door; who ever knew from it? Clarabelle for President! If Elmer the Cow can’t even fart now they’ll for sure put smelly old Uncle Sol in jail.”

Marchers wore t-shirts emblazoned with the slogan, “Old Farts Lives Matter” and Bob Dylan led the crowd in a heartfelt rendition of The Times they are a-Changin’.

Protesters carried signs reading, “Give us back our Howdy Doody,” and played Elvis Presley and Motown music over a loud speaker.

The group spokesman said a bigger turnout was planned, but many couldn’t remember the location. He said another rally is planned for next week, if they don’t forget.

Snoozles

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

1 ½ cups peas fresh or frozen

2-cups ground beef

Sauté beef and season with salt and pepper.

Add peas and beef to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheets

Roll sheet over fully once seal it and cut slices. Then roll over again and cut and repeat until all cut.

Place in well-buttered muffin tins and brush with egg wash.

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked or according to puff pastry box instructions and your oven. It makes a lot of snoozles.

Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation



Motown Was the Soundtrack of My Generation

So I am finally going to address a big part of my youth I have too often been remiss in mentioning, a house on Grand Blvd. in Detroit, Michigan with a sign reading Hitsville USA.

In case you think for a minute that the Motown sound is now only part of music history I would suggest you watch a replay of the Grammys and notice at what point the place went crazy, rose to their feet danced and sang along with the music. 

Nope it wasn’t Lizzo, it was when Stevie Wonder started playing, Smokey sang and the audience young and old knew every word and moved every part of their body.

That house on Grand Blvd. was far more than just a place where some of the greatest rock and roll music was created and sung, it was a symbol of the sixties and that something great was happening.

Let it be known this is not a political piece and forgive me if I sound preachy; it is merely a reminder of what Motown gave the world. It is a recap of how far we came and are now slipping back from.

My generation grew up in the fifties and sixties. We were guided through these decades by the advent of television and its huge impact on our lives. 

For the first time we could actually watch history occurring in front of us as when Lee Harvey Oswald was murdered in a Dallas police station after he shot the president; which we also saw first hand. In a way it sensitized us to certain aspects of life. Yet it also gave us a front row seat to our own destiny.

I ate breakfast in front of a tiny black and white television, but despite its size it didn’t preclude me from watching enormous historical events that shaped our lives.

I observed a black girl in Mississippi escorted into school by the National Guard. Of course I was young and didn’t understand why anyone would go to such lengths to attend school when I would have welcomed a day off. To this day I can see the scene in my mind’s eye for that day brought an awareness of a world of which we were all now a part.

The sixties were turbulent times. Viet Nam divided the country but united a generation. Blacks and whites marched together in unison to stop a war.

The Civil Rights marches in the south, especially in Selma with Martin Luther King saw blacks and whites bonding for a cause. And the soundtrack to this upheaval was born in a white house in Detroit, Michigan. 

To my generation especially Detroiters, there was a sense of pride in our contribution. We felt we were a part of something much greater and while we spent our days in school actually learning math and civics, we also rushed home to listen to the music of The Temptations, The Four Tops, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Supremes, Stevie Wonder, Martha and the Vandellas and so many more.

Motown artists like the Temptations recorded songs like Ball of Confusion, Edwin Starr’s Warand  Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On? Each made a political statement and sent a strong message with their lyrics. 

And the message resonated from that white house in Detroit to the entire country that transformation needed to come.

Our generation took up the mantel of change and wore it proudly; Peace love and Rock‘n’Roll. We were the hippies, the love generation and although many later turned yuppie their values for their fellow man never shifted.

Now I’m not saying there weren’t still problems and issues that needed to be solved. Of course I’m aware that those who hate can’t be legislated out of existence. That is a problem that will exist as long as man is the primitive creature he remains. Yet, so much was accomplished and the future looked so much brighter then.

When I hear how bad race relations are in America, I wonder what generation dropped the ball. I know it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t the Baby Boomers who still listen to Motown with a sense of pride and affirmation and have kept its message alive and well.

I believe for the first time music truly defined a generation, and of course although it always had in many ways, to the Baby Boomers it was the mantra of peace, solidarity and renewal. It was Abraham, Martin and John and carrying their torch into the future. 

Motown signaled acceptance and coexistence between all races and the dancing and marching, and what the hell happened?

Which generation started hating again? Which lost Martin’s message and tossed away all the principals and pacifism we had embedded in society?

Motown brought us together through music and a realization blacks and whites are not separate and can embrace unity. My generation listened, learned and discovered a way to make it all work.

Somewhere along the way others stole the message and corrupted and reinvented it into hatred and marginalization.

I won’t go into how political leaders from both parties were most guilty of this bastardization, but I can tell you it wasn’t the Baby Boomers.

The bond between our generation and Motown was and still is as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. That was quite evident the other night at the Grammys when everyone stood and danced to the music, just as mesmerized by the sounds and lyrics as ever.

I hear too many groups espouse the theory today that blacks and whites are incapable of peaceful coexistence, of accomplishing great things together and ending racial hatred. That the malice and anger was below the surface and festering all these years.

I must wonder where all this is coming from? 

Who dredged it up from its burial plot and resurrected all this resentment? I know it wasn’t Baby Boomers because we are still very much in tune with our message.

Motown was no fluke that simply arrived on the music scene to create eternal music; it was much more. It was proof positive that race is no barrier to understanding and unity, that all people can stand together, dance together and sing together in unison. 

Perhaps the generation that now declares this coexistence is impossible needs a lesson or two in history. While they are learning they need a soundtrack of Motown to validate it is possible and Baby Boomers were the ones to give peace a chance. Maybe they should drive by that Hitsville, USA house and see for themselves how it’s done. And if I sound like I’m baking pie in the sky here, check out the lyrics to Gladys Knight and the Pips’ Friendship Train and hop the hell on.