In the past week, I have re-watched three films that practically eviscerate the stock image of happily married couples with well-adjusted children (Kramer vs Kramer, Revolutionary Road, and The Squid and the Whale), and I have had my 84 year old grandfather tell me that falling in love is a disease. The sights and sounds of this rampant pessimism compelled me to look at myself in the bathroom mirror and ask, “Why bother?”

There is nothing more discouraging than looking into the eyes of a man who has been worn down by years of prejudice, familial betrayal and physical decline and have him tell you, without a hint of hesitancy, that the one thing that should buoy us above the ugliness of life does nothing but cripple us further. “Falling in love is a disease”. It was like a five knuckle bowel buster right to the solar plexus. Ideally, I wanted to hear something like, “I’d do it all over again if I had the chance.” Or, “A lot of shit has come down the pike during my time and landed right on my lap. It hasn’t been easy. Sometimes it was almost too much to bear. But you know what sustained me? You know what got me through? Love. That’s it, my boy. A little dollop of that stuff and I felt invincible. Nothing could stop me.”

I don’t think of falling in love as a disease like cancer. Instead, it’s more like alcoholism. It’s a disease exacerbated by desire and repetition. You can free yourself from it every now and then. You can toss that monkey aside and feel like you will never look back. But it creeps back into your life without warning. It disguises itself as lust or friendship or temporary affection. Then, once it has latched onto its host, it quickly metastasizes and overtakes you before you have a chance to shake it loose. In short, it’s a real bitch. And like my grandfather told me, even when it’s gone, it’s not gone. In fact, sometimes the remnants of a failed love affair stay with you until your dying day.

And yet, like the alcoholic, I can’t stop myself. I know the overall consequence, but the fix is so good, I can’t walk away. I look back and realize how devastated I’ve been by love in the past, but it doesn’t matter. One more again, I say. One more again.

Perhaps the desire only fades when you find yourself sitting all alone in your room, having outlived all the rest, realizing that the ideal never materialized. My grandfather, like myself, is an admitted romantic. All his life he embraced the fallacy, the flowery sentiment of a love enduring and everlasting. Now, eighty-four years later, he concedes that it was all in vain.

I hear him and perhaps I know that I should heed his every word. But like I said, I too am a romantic. And I would like to believe that if I am fortunate enough to see the age of 84, I will be singing a different, lovelier tune.

Love is funny or it’s sad
Or it’s quiet or it’s mad
It’s a good thing or it’s bad
But beautiful

And I’m thinking if you were mine
I’d never let you go
And that would be
But beautiful, I know

I posted this on the Evening Melancholy Facebook page but wanted to include it here as well. I first heard this song while sitting in a darkened movie theater back in 1988. The movie was Biloxi Blues; the song was the frequently covered “How High the Moon.” I’d heard the song hundreds of times before seeing this movie and thousands of times since. Still, no version crumples me quite like this one. Absolutely stunning in it’s delicate sparseness and emotion.

If you’ve never seen the movie, check it out. It had a profound effect on me, even more so than the Neil Simon play on which it is based. Despite the twenty-plus years that have passed, this song has not lost a bit of its luster.

Ms. Suzuki is still with us. I hope she knows how much she is appreciated.

I love this guy! I’m thinking he is either a heavy smoker…or Satan.

Very pornographic phrases if you ask me. Of course, I have a dirty mind. But I find it entertaining to think that a man with this kind of voice is doing naughty things. Exuberance can make a difference!

it came hard
it came fast
look at that!
look at it!
this exuberance is gonna get broken in half ouch!
take ‘em all out!
for the big bounce off the bottom!
whoa, look at that!
how do you like it?!?
i can’t even keep up with the tic-toc not sure this really applies, but it sounds slightly dirty

at the Ford Motor Company in Dearborn, Michigan made the following quote in Esquire magazine –

If you go into a person’s home and look at his surroundings, you’ll see exactly who he is. If you look at the same person in his car, you’ll see who he wants to be.

So by Mr. Mays’ rationale, I am a semi-hip, urban professional who WANTS to be Boxcar Willie.

Thanks for the self-esteem boost, Mr. Mays.

Guru, most famously known as the vocal half of the hip-hop group Gang Starr, died yesterday after an extended battle with cancer. He was only 43.

Gang Starr existed during a time when hip-hop was still a great and disciplined art form. The early nineties required emcees to be articulate and meaningful. It was before the time when laziness and monotony were rewarded with platinum records and millions of dollars. I must always pay tribute to the men and women who were given a platform to speak and spoke eloquently and with purpose. Guru had that gift. He had a commanding presence, a unique voice and an unmistakable delivery.

Whenever a jazz great passes, I feel like a piece of history has died. I feel like the burden of responsibility is upon me to continue doing my part to keep the music alive. When a hip-hop great passes, I feel like a part of me has gone forever. I feel myself moving further and further away from my youth. I can no longer look back at 1990 like it was just yesterday. I have to admit to myself that those days are long gone. And little by little, the things I hold dear from that time are slipping away from me as well.

Below is one of the best creations of Guru and Gang Starr. The man respected jazz and its originators and it shows here.