Nearly half a century after “Break on Through (to the Other Side)” hit the airwaves, the FCC is finally allowing Jim Morrison to complete a sentence. After years of singing “She get—” along to the radio, today I discovered that Jim’s complete thought, binding and gagging aside, is “She get HIGH.” Shocking. But such an exciting testament to our progress as a freely speaking civilization that I won’t even correct Jim’s grammar.

I sometimes listen to ’60s music and feel a bit sad that I wasn’t a part of it, like I missed out on something big. More than once I’ve wished I could flick on my refrigerator-sized color TV, adjust the antennae till the picture came in just right, and catch a glimpse of the Doors performing live on the Ed Sullivan show. Jim’s dark, intense eyes would penetrate right through the camera and hold me hostage. I would practically feel his wild curls brush against my neck as he crooned poetic philosophies into my ear with that deep, soulful voice.  He would cradle the microphone in both hands, a mischievous smirk of defiance, the entire theater resonating with secret codes intended just for me. “Girl, we couldn’t get much higher…”

Which brings me to today’s disturbing thought. Could lusting after someone posthumously be categorized as a mild degree of necrophilia?

Suddenly Jim’s Oedipal mother issues aren’t nearly so alarming.