It's been too long since the last Muttonchop Monday. Today let's focus on a man whose musical chops and muttonchops have made me feel weak in the knees and short of breath for decades.
He's comfortable blue jeans, broken in.
Did I mention the guitar?
Or the gravel-edged voice?
The way his butt looks in those Levis?
How he makes me sing at the top of my lungs every December when I hear him on the radio--Santa Claus is Comin' To Town.
How he makes me want to straddle a motorcycle and ride through a desolate landscape with wind raking my hair and his voice urging in my ear, Baby, we were born to run.
He makes my heart ache with melancholy.
He makes me proud to be Born in the USA.
He's working class.
He's rock and roll.
He. Is. The. Boss.
Sixty-two and still rocking my world with his talent and that face.
True story: when he sings Secret Garden to me it makes me feel beautiful. If you haven't heard him sing it to you, reader, you really should.
Raising my coffee cup to The Boss, this morning. One bad-ass rock star with muttonchops and heart.