Tomorrow.

I hope that you enjoy reading this post on the weekly Friday Loose Bloggers Consortium where eleven of us write on the same topic. Today’s topic has been chosen by Grannymar. The ten other bloggers who write regularly are, in alphabetical order, Delirious, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Maxi, Maria SF, Padmum, Paul, Rohit,Shackman, The Old Fossil and Will. Do drop in on their blogs and see what their take is on this week’s topic. Since some of them may post late, do give some allowance for that too!

If only!

Where Are The Clowns?

Our friend Cynthia has this uncanny knack of coming up with something most appropriate at the most unexpected moments. She has done it again.

Her real life friend who is also my blogger friend Cheerful Monk, had this to say “I’m afraid you’ll never be a chick magnet if you drive women away like that. ;)” as a comment on my blog The Massage.

What better way to respond than with what Cynthia sent me!

Isn’t it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.

Isn’t it bliss?
Don’t you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Just when I’d stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.

Don’t you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don’t bother, they’re here.

Isn’t it rich?
Isn’t it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

THANK YOU CYNTHIA.

Afraid To Sleep? Frank Sinatra?

I subscribe to delanceyplace’s daily excerpts and today I received this gem. I am sure that this will come as a revelation to many other fans of Frank Sinatra.

I am a die hard fan of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and must easily have every possible recording ever made by them. This tidbit however came as a revelation.

Thank God that I was not anywhere near Frank when he was alive and kicking. I love my sleep.

“In today’s excerpt–throughout his life, Frank Sinatra dreaded being alone, and so spent most nights surrounded by friends, insisting that they stay, and often greeting the dawn with them.

“Frank Sinatra did not like to be alone. Alone, he was anxious, even a little fearful. … And so, for only the lonely, he sang the rhetorical question: ‘When you’re alone, who cares for starlit skies?’ Not him, that’s who. When he was alone, night was a bitch, a black hole, a bitter void. Night required company, required fortification and reinforcements. Since the forties, he would not take on the night, any night, single-handedly. So he marshaled troops to sit with him, to drink and to smoke and to laugh with him. ‘The thing Frank doesn’t seem to understand is that the body’s got to get some sleep.’ a bedraggled friend complained four decades ago. At that moment, the New York Times declared: ‘He fights a relentless battle against sleeping before sun-up.’ Even in the sixties, messing around on his cockamamie two-way radio, he gave himself the handle ‘Night Fighter.’

“He would break more dawns than most mortals. Each one was his triumph, the death of each night. He had survived yet another one. ‘He feels reborn in the morning light,’ his daughter Tina once attested. When horizons brightened, he exulted over the spoils of war. ‘Look at the colors!’ he would say, pointing bleary comrades toward thousands of sunrises. ‘What kind of blue would you call that?’ He called the tint of sky that offered him the most peace Five O’Clock Vegas Blue.

“Woe to those missing. More woe to those who greeted dawns by his side. It is there that scores of
[his companions] slumped, trapped, for he insisted nobody leave. … Begin to nod off, he would say, ‘Hey! What are you doing? Wake up!’ Rise from the table, he would say, ‘Where the hell are you going?’ Best excuse: ‘To the bathroom.’ ‘Well, that’s all right then,’ Frank would allow, if suspiciously. … But many who crept away were summoned back. ‘God help you if he knew what room you were in,’ says [Hank] Cattaneo. ‘Frank himself would light firecrackers under your door.’

” ‘Frank is the only person I know who invites you to a black-tie party and, as he is hanging up the telephone, says, ‘Be sure to bring your sunglasses.’ ”

Bill Zehme, The Way You Wear Your Hat,
Harper Collins,
Copyright 1997 by Bill Zehme, pp. 3-8.