So I was just telling txrad this amazing story about the Eric Clapton song were's listening to right now. It was recorded around 1968 and it stoked a big-ass memory of me visiting my Grandmother in Dallas for the first time.
She managed an apartment complex and had a secretary, a sort of hippie-ish gal.
We went out one day, to the World's Fair in San Antonio or maybe some lamer-ass shit in Dallas. (10th Avenue Freeze-Out!) But I spent $5 on a fake plastic pot of fake plastic sunflowers which would dance to music. I shit you not.
And upon returning to the apartment complex, I was hanging out in the financial office where the hippie chick sat, and she said, "hey boy, I want to buy those."
I said, "they're not for sale."
She asked me what I paid for them and I told her, and that dumb black-haired hippie offered me double.
I said "no."
I told her I'd sell them to her, since by this time I was already bored with them, and wanted my $5 back, for $5.
I wanted her to learn a lesson. The not-for-profit motive resonates way beyond the body and soul. Rock on, hippie chicks!
Eric Clapton started it.