bob.

Today is a Bob kind of day. Three Little Birds. No Woman No Cry, Redemption Song, Turn Your Lights Down Low (with Lo Hill). Saang it saang it Bob. If I could live in any other era, it would be his. And I would be friends with Janis and Jimmy Cliff and Peter, Paul and Mary. Yes.

Ooooooooo can you imagine? Wake up on a Thursday morning in July, which would be at like . . . 10 . . . roll over and give your hungover love a kiss, then relax under the sheets for the next hour knowing the only thing you have to do that day is put some jeans on and a t-shirt over your bra-less bod (duh), then go for stroll in the park picking daisies until you have to mosey over to sound check at your local venue, which happens to be a run-down coffee-shop-turned-bar at night. Then you might throw your hair back (guys, this goes for you too), change into a smaller t-shirt, then hit the stage and blow some minds. At least that's what I picture Janis' life was like, or Mama Cass . . . obbbbviously mine is sans "nose treats" and "ham sandwiches," but then again, that wasn't my point. I think Bob knew something too many people don't: how to liiiiiiiiiiive. And then he sang about it. Even. Better.