You Ain't Nothing But a Major Tom.

I've got a strange taste in my mouth today.

Each time I post a piece to this profound journal of the mundane, I'm left with a residual feeling, a taste, if you will.

After expounding about my children's exploits, the leftover flavor can be a bitter sweet bouquet of guilt, shame and liberation from allowing others to nestle in next to me on the parental roller coaster.

Occasionally I'll write about an event in which my own actions have led to personal embarrassment and humiliation. The taste opens with acridity, yet finishes with a velvety sweetness—that familiar peace one feels when confessing sins, but sans the presence of a clergyman, bartender or cross dressing prostitute.

But the most confusing sensation on my grizzled pallet surfaces after I've blurted out remarks judging moral behavior—especially vis a vis America's politicians. Oh, how easy it is for Mr. High and Mighty to spew his vitriol from behind his iMac while snacking on Sunshine Cheez-It®, proud sponsor of Reflections of a Shallow Pond.

Who am I to judge, yes?

And that's why I was so relieved to learn of two birthdays this morning, both of which were for gentlemen who stated loudly and proudly, "I'm freaky, I'm weird and I'm questioning you. If you don't agree, I've got two words for you: Look how many chicks I'm getting.

Elvis Aaron Presley was born in Tupelo, Mississippi on this day in 1935. Elvis embodied rock "n' roll, even for kids my age who were a generation removed and didn't really listen to his stuff because he'd become a bloated caricature of himself.

Before all the pills and the guns and the bacon and forgotten lyrics, this dude rocked. Forget his incredible singing ability and good looks, have you ever tried moving your hips like that?

I did, once. I was around thirteen, and jeans were super tight back then. Let's just say, after about seven gyrations I learned something new and wonderful about myself that afternoon in my room back in 1976.

Today's other rock 'n' roll birthday belongs to David Bowie,  born David Robert Jones on January 8, 1947. Right around the time I was learning about the benefits of denim-inspired friction, David Bowie introduced me to the universe of androgynous glam rock.

Before the ever-morphing personas of Lady Gaga or Madonna or Prince, there was David Bowie.

When you're a kid whose only musical exposure has been to groups like Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Bee Gees, you get pretty inspired seeing this odd-looking and -sounding dude who sings some superior pop songs.

David Bowie was one of the first people who said to a young Tim, "Go ahead, say it. You'll be okay."

Happy birthday, Elvis and David. Thanks for absolving me of my sins.