After seventy-five years of being a major player, the former ninth planet Pluto has been renamed number 134340. How many of us know what that feels like? You were once somebody. You mattered, dammit! Then you got older and they shunned you. Who are they? You know who they are. It’s a long, long while from May to December. But the days grow short when you reach September. Your days are numbered, old friend. Pretty soon you won’t even be a number anymore. That’s what they do to you when you grow old and younger, hipper planets come along. They shove you to the back of the solar system and hope you’ll disappear. Those astronomer bastards. You were orbiting the sun when those guys weren’t even an itch in their daddy’s pants. Number 134340 indeed! You will always be Pluto to me.

The days dwindle down to a precious few. September, November…

Goodbye, old friend. I hardly knew ye.

 

I just listened to Louis Armstrong’s 1935 recording of “Solitude”, and after a long, deep sigh, I realized something. Do you know why Louis Armstrong was so great? Because he could do more in three minutes than most of us will do in a lifetime.

Where would we be without Pops?

I have been bitten once again by the Frou Frou bug. I love this song “Chinese Translation” by M. Ward. The lyrics are wonderful – simple but probing. Man’s search for meaning is an eternal one, and because of that we get beautiful songs and videos like this one. Check it out. Let me know what you think.

 

Ever get a song stuck in your head? Ever find yourself playing a song ad nauseam? I don’t do it very often. Every now and then, however, I am so smitten with a tune, I find myself sitting at work with a pair of headphones strapped to my ears, listening for hours to the same tune over and over and over again. It happened when I first heard that Frou Frou song “Let Go”. It was a misty Friday afternoon and I was at work doing what most people do at work — surfing the web — and I came across the trailer for the movie Garden State. While I was watching it I found myself asking, “What is that song?? I love that song! I must have that song!!” So, I did a little more surfing and eventually found it. I spent the rest of the day listening to it repeatedly. I only stopped listening when I had to pee or went out to grab lunch. For about eight hours straight it was nothing but Frou Frou. And what did I do after I left work? I headed straight for Tower Records and bought the Garden State soundtrack so I could spend the rest of the afternoon and weekend listening to it. As a result of the song, I ended up seeing the movie three times at the theater. Ah, the power of music.

About two months or so ago I discovered the Gnarls Barkley song “Crazy” and found myself in another Frou Frou situation. Over and over again the song blared through my headphones. “I love this song! I must have this song!!” Of course, the guy that works next to me was none to happy about having to hear the Crrraaazzzaaayyyy chorus play repeatedly for about a day and a half. He said, “You know, I used to like that song. Now, I hate it.” I’m sorry! When I start I can’t stop until I completely get my fill.

Well, since yesterday I have found myself falling victim once again to another (I believe it should be a clinical term) Frou Frou situation. For some reason I can not stop playing this song, “Every Time We Say Goodbye”. It is the version by Ray Charles and Betty Carter. Fact is, I love Betty Carter and I Love (with a capital L) Ray Charles. He just sounds so languid, so incredibly romantic on this tune. I’ve listened to it at home, in my car and at work. I can not get it out of my head. Eventually, my desire will fade, but for now, I am ensnared within its tapestry of strings and heartwrenching vocals. Brother Ray always makes everything okay.

Never have I shed a tear for someone who died that I didn’t know. Presidents, artists, actors. Perhaps I felt bad and felt a loss, but never did I cry. When Ray Charles passed, it was the first time I ever felt like a stranger’s passing was like losing a friend. I found myself sitting alone wondering why I felt so sad about someone I didn’t even know on an intimate level. I found myself trying to hold back tears because I couldn’t justify the ridiculousness of it. Then it hit me. First cd ever purchased — Ray Charles. The song that reminds me of my departed grandmother — a Ray Charles song. Who did I listen to when I was a disgruntled teenager alone in my room, wondering what life held in store for me? Which episode of the Cosby Show do I remember above all others? What is perhaps the greatest song ever recorded about unrequited love? If it isn’t Ray Charles and his version of “You Don’t Know Me” then please, enlighten me. Road trips with nothing but long, winding interstates and me in the back seat with my trusty walkman — who was that singing “Georgia On My Mind”? I can say without a doubt that since I was just a little kid, not a week has gone by without me listening to at least one Ray Charles song. I got to see him once in concert and…talk about surreal…talk about goosebumps.

Truth is, Ray Charles wasn’t a stranger. He was a friend, a good friend who has been there for me much longer than some friends of the fairweather variety. So, it was okay for me to shed a tear or two. That’s what you do when someone close to you passes from this world. The great thing is Brother Ray will always be there — on television, on the radio and cds. With him there will be no real goodbye, no final farewell. For I imagine that for the rest of my life, however long that may be, no matter where I go or who I may encounter, Ray Charles and his music will be always be close by.

There was an article in the Times this morning called This Can’t Be Love that I found quite intriguing…and a little disturbing. Basically, it was about the mating rituals of some insects and described how the female Chinese mantis devours her male counterpart while he is still in the act of mating. When she’s done with the poor S.O.B, there is nothing left but a pair of wings and a barcalounger.

And dig this:

Male Australian redback spiders court females for up to eight hours by plucking the strands of their web. Once a male starts to mate, he promptly somersaults onto her fangs. He continues to mate as she feeds on him. In some cases, the male crawls a short distance away, courts the female again, and then mates a second time. He flips onto her fangs, and by the end of the second mating he is dead.

These guys want the nookie so bad, they are willing to die for it. And in a quite painful way if you ask me. He flips onto her fangs. Not once! But twice! This has been going on for millions of years! So, why would it change when human beings finally came to walk the earth? Are male human beings any different than male insects?

Think about it. The male Australian redback spider plucks his web for hours waiting for that fine female to strut those taut, supple eight legs his way. The male American or Englishman or….take your pick…will spend countless amounts of money trying to woo some fine two-legged female. Whatever it takes and for however long it takes, as long as he can get that nookie. The male Australian spider starts to mate and promptly somersaults onto the female’s fangs. The male human starts to mate and, many times, loses his mind as well. Perhaps he doesn’t commit physical suicide, but emotionally he’s ripped wide open. And yes, even after the male human has been burnt by said female, he will often return to let her finish the job, much like his eight-legged counterpart. Men all like to primp and preen and act like they rule the world, but come on guys. We all know who has the power.

The article suggests that some males know that they will be devoured and so they leap on the female from further away to avoid the inevitable. Some human males do the same thing — George Clooney — but they are only putting off the inevitable. It’s nature, man. Give in to her wiles. Stop going against instinct and let nature take its course.

I hope this doesn’t sound chauvinistic or misogynistic or bitter in any way as that was not my intent. But am I wrong? Is the comparison I just made completely off?

By the way, Monday I wrote in my blog about these beauty pageants for little kids and how sickening it was to me. (see Let A Kid Be A Kid) Well, this evening I heard that one of the kids, a six year old little girl, won a $10,000 car after it was all said and done. Um…did I say sickening? Perhaps I was a little harsh. What I meant to say was, “It’s time to procreate so daddy can win himself a Kia Sport!” Okay, not really. It’s still pretty disturbing, BUT I do have a better understanding of why these people are doing it. We all know that six year old won’t be driving the car. But her mother sure will look cute in it.