FOOL PROOF

fool’s paradise, a state of contentment based on delusive or false hopes. –WEBSTER’S NEW COLLEGE DICTIONARY

A fool’s paradise is a wise man’s hell! –Thomas Fuller, English churchman/historian

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July 13 is FOOL’S PARADISE DAY. If ever there was a day to get a handle on the “state” Donald Trump adherents live in, this is that day. Other than living in a “Fool’s Paradise,” how else to account for them being oblivious to what is patently obvious: The Donald is a sick excuse for a human being (much less a President) whose lies, corrupt morality, bullying, ethical poverty, and colossal narcissism do not matter because the economy happens to be booming (“booming” to whose benefit is apparently beside the point).

Fortunately for America, I know a few eye-opening songs to bring a “fool proof” Trump adherent to his/her senses if he/she will only give the songs’ words an ear and take them to heart….which shouldn’t be asking too much because, as we all know, Trumpies would give an arm and a leg to do the ‘right‘ thing for their country. Left with this admonition….

….how can the devoted Don fan of November 2016 (having now been exposed to cool cats, and hopefully less gullible) not begin to think in terms of Don the Con Man and ask….

Cool cat or cool fool, still believe The Donald hasn’t played you for a total sucker? Pause and consider this Trumpian truism come election day, November 3, 2020:

Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.

 

TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK DAY

March 30 is TAKE A WALK IN THE PARK DAY. Notwithstanding the condition of my feet (as you can understand from my March 20 FOOT TALK post), I thought I’d prepare ahead of the event by going for a walk on my post-erior, which is parked chair-side inside a blog somewhere in my PC, waiting to be liberated. So, let’s get a head start PDQ with a song befitting the occasion:

So you see, my fellow carcass parkers: as escapism goes, that really wasn’t so hard, was it? You might even say it was a walk in the park. Let’s keep it going with this humdinger:

Of course, if you’re a man’s-best-friend-lover, you wouldn’t think of taking a walk in the park without….

Speaking of walkin’ the dog, I’ll be doggone if I didn’t forget to bring along my pooper scooper — not to mention my dog. Wait a minute — I don’t own a dog. Nonetheless, my dogs are killing me, so it’s time to switch gears and leave the rest of the walking in park. When you gotta go, you gotta go. Like post-haste.

 

DAYS OF OUR WIVES

The third Sunday in September, which by all (ac)counts is today, is WIFE APPRECIATION DAY. First and foremost, it’s a day for all us husbands to give thanks….thanks that we don’t live in olden times of guys like King Solomon, who had hundreds of wives for whose favors he had to pay dearly to prove his appreciation, not only this day, but on wedding anniversaries, birthdays, and romantic holidays like the ancient equivalents of Sweetest Day, Valentine’s Day, and, of course, Groundhog Day. My wallet (which I affectionately call Wally) is having a nervous breakdown just thinking about that empty feeling….and praying he doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning reliving this day.

Fortunately, we live in more civilized times where monogamy is the rule and just one wife is the ruler. Wally can rest assured that I see all such days as over-commercialized evil plots furthered by vile capitalists interested only in separating Wally and me from our hard-earned jack* (surnamed Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Grant and Franklin) — and my would-be better half had better see it that way, because I control the Jack in my Wally, and I will not be moved by shape-up-or-ship-out demands….

*jack, n. Money. Orig. a sporting term, common 1920s. –Dictionary of American Slang

Whoa! Let us not be too hasty — you know I was only kidding, don’t you, Honey Buns? Lay that pistol down, babe….

As a matter of fact, Snooky Wooky Ookums, I do have something for you on WIFE APPRECIATION DAY: something to bring back memories of those halcyon days when lovers can’t get enough of each other (as The Donald continues to feel about The Donald):

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Sorry, Wally. Sorry, Jack.  When you gotta go, you gotta go.

 

 

 

SCAT!

Wait — don’t scat! Stay where you are and let scat come to you — scat singing, that is — and who better to lay the scat on you than two of the best: Mel Tormé, whose birthday (9/13/25) we celebrate this month, and the First Lady of Scat, Ella Fitzgerald:

Man, if that didn’t knock your socks off, you’d better put your shoes on and scat back to Squaresville, because you’re just not with it! To say scat singing is little more than vocal jazz improvisation with nonsense words is like saying The Donald is just improvising when he lets loose with nonsense tweets (to use a reverse perverse metaphor).

So, who was the cat who ‘invented’ scat? There seems to be no definitive answer, but some say it began 2/26/26 when Louis Armstrong supposedly forgot the words to this song and began improvising a little more than halfway through the recording:

Let’s wrap it up with this recent scat-iteration (which, I kid you not, ends with tweets):

And now you can scat! Come back any time.

KISS HER IN THE KISSER AND MAKE UP

My formula for living is quite simple. I get up in the morning and I go to bed at night. In between, I occupy myself as best I can. –Cary Grant

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August 25 is KISS AND MAKE UP DAY. In the Cary Grant spirit of occupying myself as best I can, I thought I’d present an assemblage of good old-fashioned “kiss and make up” goodies (the idea being, if you don’t love my premise, you can kiss my assortment). Let’s start with Cary’s take on make-up, which (as you can see) I’m not making up:

Well, apparently Cary never did make up with that gal, because here he is two years later, singing another love song to another gal:

It seems that Cary would rather play the field than kiss and make up. Let us therefore pick a dilly of a ditty less playboy-like in character:

So much for the guys. I give the last word to the gals (they usually have it anyway):

Kiss and make up — but too much makeup has ruined many a kiss. –Mae West

Kiss & make up. Maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out. –Katie Anderson

In trying to get our own way, we should remember that kisses are sweeter than whine. –Ann Nonymous

HORSE FLIES

It has come to my attention that a flying horse has been spotted by the landed gentry in, of all places, the South Lennox neighborhood of La La land:

It was reported that the winged steed is called Pegasus, although the origin of that mythical name is Greek to me. What is clear is that that spotted bag of hay is very white, and South Lennox is very black, so we can only speculate that Pegasus is either very brazen, or has no more horse sense than a horsefly in a Raid commercial. What we cannot entertain is the notion that mistermuse is a racist pig for suggesting that a white horse is ASKING for trouble in a black ‘hood. After all, we’re talking about a flying horse, not a talking horse (as opposed to a stalking horse, which of course IS asking for trouble).

Unfortunately, the trouble with trouble is that you don’t have to ask for trouble in order to find yourself in it….even in Paradise:

Therefore, friends, my advice to you is don’t ‘nag;’ tighten your shin chaps, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and 🙂 🙂 🙂

 

EAST MEETS WEST DAY

EAST IS EAST, AND WEST IS WEST, AND NEVER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET. –Rudyard Kipling

The above quote notwithstanding, it’s not too late if you want to meet Twain. Forget East/West, and return to the site of my previous post (MARK TWAIN ON DONALD TRUMP), where Twain still lives. I could quibble that you should have met him there then, but I am magnanimous enough to forgive those of you who didn’t read that post (so long as you promise never to let it happen again).

Be that as it may, this is April — April 24th, to be exact, which just happens to be East Meets West Day, which just happens to give me an excuse to engross you with some of my favorite East and/or West songs, such as this old standard by an old favorite:

Keely Smith (born Dorothy Keely) died four months ago at age 89, one of the best (though underappreciated) female vocalists of the 1950s-60s.

Next, we change directions for this Kurt Weill classic from the 1943 musical ONE TOUCH OF VENUS:

Let us end, fittingly, with WEST END BLUES by Louis Armstrong, one of the all-time great recordings in jazz history:

That performance was recorded in 1928; 90 years later, you can travel far and wide, east and west, and never the same shall meet.

 

MORE “WHO KNEW THEY COULD SING?” STARS

My last post included a clip of Bette Davis singing — adding to previous clips of Golden Age Hollywood stars Jimmy Stewart and Alan Ladd, who few knew could sing. But wait! There’s more! Thanks to the magic of the silver screen, I’ve uncovered more black & white clips of bygone Hollywood heartthrobs who sang like nobody’s business, and I’ve made it my business to offer the first of these hidden gems to you for a song (and dance):

Thank you, Fred Astaire (alias Clark Gable). Next, we have another hunk from OUT OF THE PAST, Robert Mitchum, whose very next picture, RACHEL AND THE STRANGER (1948), includes this scene with co-stars Loretta Young and William Holden:

We bring down the curtain on this triple feature with that devil-may-care swashbuckler and fun-hero of such films as CAPTAIN BLOOD, THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD, and THE SEA HAWK, Errol Flynn:

What’s that you say — you didn’t get your bloody money’s worth?  Well, that’s a laugh. You should thank your lucky stars for what you jolly well get!

 

 

WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH AND ALL THAT JAZZ (PART II)

In this follow-up to my previous post, rather than go into a more detailed history which might bore those with only a passing interest in classic jazz and pop music of the period, I’ve decided to stick to clips of the era’s all-girl bands, with minimum commentary.

Some of you may recall that I once published a post with a clip of Jimmy Stewart, of all people, singing. Here’s a clip of an all-girl band featuring a vocal by another actor you’ve probably never heard sing:

Speaking of “never heard,” here’s an all-girl band even I had never heard before:

Last but luscious, jazz writer George T. Simon called this gal “Without a doubt, the sexiest of all the big bandleaders….waving her baton in a languorous, seductive sort of way [and] weaving her torso in her magnificent, undulating manner,” INA RAY HUTTON (if you were hoping for more, stay tuned for the announcement at the close of the clip):

HELLO, YON READERS, WHOEVER YOU ARE

[Composer Richard] Rodgers was particularly annoyed by what seemed to him Hammerstein’s dilatory attitude when it came to writing lyrics. So his way of dealing with the situation would be to punish his partner with silence when the long-awaited lyrics finally arrived. One of the most difficult songs Hammerstein ever wrote was “Hello, Young Lovers,” a poignant musing about a past love that is one of the high points of THE KING AND I. It took him five weeks of struggle, but he eventually had something he felt proud of. He sent the lyrics by special messenger to Rodgers, with instructions to wait for an answer, but no answer came. After four days, Rodgers called on another matter and, at the very end, said that, by the way, the lyrics were fine. Then he hung up. They were four of the most painful days of Hammerstein’s life. –from SOMEWHERE FOR ME, A BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD RODGERS, by Meryle Secrest

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Of all the pre-R&R songs in popular music with “Hello” in the title, no doubt the one with the most staying power has been Rodgers and Hammerstein’s HELLO, YOUNG LOVERS. Thus, it is with that evergreen that we begin this selection of “Hello” songs:

Next, we turn from ever green to avian blue:

We close with a question (or two or three) for all you lovely ladies out there (but you must play the song to hear the questions):