Just as all good things must come to an end, so too must all bad things (even Trump’s evil rule will run out of recourse eventually — e.g., the fat lady’s last aria at the opera seems to go on forever; will it end short of becoming a hoarse opera?). What it all a-mounts to is….
Meanwhile, back at the ranch , we bid happy trails to “bad” actors not named Trump, and end our HOLLYWOOD’S GOLDEN AGE series with a roundup of some of the era’s great song & dance stars, starting with this incomparable pair whose magic outlasted their time:
When it comes to high-energy dancing, no one outshined Gene Kelly. Here he is in THE PIRATE (1948), clowning around with the fabulous Nicholas Brothers:
I do have one regret about this retrospective: so many musical stars, so little time and wherewithal for them all. Perhaps, as time goes by, I will use a favorite star’s birthday as an occasion to do an occasional post.
In closing (speaking of when A STAR IS BORN), if ever someone was born to be one, it’s this star-crossed girl/woman with whom we bring down the curtain on this series:
“….any day with Ella Fitzgerald is a grand day. ….that song [is] another one I hadn’t heard before.” –from a June 13 comment to my last (June 6th) post by Silver Screenings (a blog published by ‘Ruth’)
In my reply to Ruth, I noted that with June 15 nearing (the 23rd anniversary of Ella’s death), I’d use the occasion to post a remembrance, including clips of other songs she may not have heard Ella sing. Over the years, I’ve probably done over a dozen Ella clips, including a half dozen in my April 25th post titled THE FIRST LADY OF SONG. After screening a few previous Ella posts to try to avoid repetition, hopefully the songs that follow will fall fresh on Ruth’s ‘Ella-fan-true’ ears (as opposed to mistermuse’s Elephant ears).
Let’s start with an early Ella (as ‘girl’ vocalist with Chick Webb’s Orchestra in April 1936):
Next, we turn from the swinging Ella to a more dreamy Ella:
Before you tune out, I know some of you guys aren’t fans of my kind of music (or the songbirds who warble it), so next time I’ll consider a return to posting about your (and Mexico’s) favorite tweeter of note, Donaldo el Trumpo — mean-o-while, I bid you a fond….
Lately, I’ve been burning too much mental energy cooking up posts to roast Trump (e.g., I almost said toast rump); the heat is turning my face red and giving me the thinking blues:
Frankly, friends, I think I need to cool it before the strain becomes a drain on my brain and gives me a pain. Fortunately, Feb. 27 is NO BRAINER DAY — a perfect day to post a post which requires little or no thinking. But before you Trump reprobates snidely ask how that would make this post any different from my previous posts, answer me this: how much thought do you think The Donald gives his tweets? Even a smart-ask Trumpite should allow that mistermuse be entitled to one day of devoting the same paucity of gray matter to his post that your Orange Oligarch devotes to his tweets every day.
With that in mind, I’m giving the rest of this tome over to posting what others thought when they thought about thinking/not thinking. Do I think their thinking will make you think you’re thinking what I’m thinking about thinking/not thinking? Just a thought.
So, let’s get quoting before I change my mind and start thinking again:
I think that I think; therefore, I think I am. –Ambrose Bierce
[I think that I think, therefore] I yam what I yam. –Popeye the Sailor Man
There is no expedient to which a man will not go to avoid the labor of thinking. –Thomas Edison
Ours is an age which is proud of machines that think, and suspicious of men who try to. –Howard Mumford Jones
The best way [for a woman] to win a man is to make him think you think as much of him as he does. –Evan Esar
In America, we say what we think, and even if we can’t think, we say it anyhow. –Charles F. Kettering
In closing, did you know Rodin’s THE THINKER was originally called THE POET:
I happen to know that THE POET didn’t appreciate the name change, thus this reaction:
Mused The Poet to a passing skunk,
“What good is being called The Thinker?
To some day convey the aura of a President,
It should Don the wrap, like you, of The Stinker.”
As my faithful followers know, from time to time I’ve posted a post (or commented a comment) critical of our Charlatan-in-Chief, Donaldo el Trumpo, aka The Grinch who stole Truth (if not the 2016 election). In the spirit of Christmas season, Dec. 21 seems an appropriate day to atone for the profusion of impertinence heaped upon Individual-1*, a day when everything I’ve said about him can be reduced to one essence-capturing word:
But why, Individual-1* may wonder, is December 21 “an appropriate day” to sum up the grossly inappropriate in one word? Because, Your Lordship/t, it’s HUMBUG DAY….your own very special (be)little day. And so, for every heartless, “false, deceptive, or insincere” thing you’ve ever said or done, I wish you a Hearty Humbug, for verily thou art a HUMBUG.
December 4 is SANTA’S LIST DAY. Yours truly having been a good boy this year, what better time than now to make out my Christmas wish list and tell Santa that I deserve everything on it? That gives me three weeks to be naughty while the old fart is busy browbeating and driving his elves to peak toy production before D-Day (Delivery Day) — or should I say, before Delivery Night. The way I see it, it’s not my fault that Santa won’t have time to check up on me — he should be a more adept despot.
Just kidding,of course. I don’t really plan on being a bad boy from now until Christmas…. and to prove it, my list will consist entirely of wishes for someone much more in need than I — a child so spoiled and naughty, he may soon be locked out of his WHITE HOUSE (depending on who holds the key to the outcome). The name of that over-privileged child is Don-Don (known as THE DONALD by those in awe of him — and who isn’t?).
But why leave to chance the chances that my wishes for Don-Don come true?
If not upon a star, maybe I could wish upon a STEYER: Tom-Tom STEYER, the billionaire liberal activist, philanthropist, and Trump ingrate, for help in suggesting gifts that Santa (perhaps with coaxing from Mrs. Claus, who could probably use a Steyer-donated fur coat) might deliver to the needy Don-Don. But it seems Tom-Tom is too-too busy donating to causes instead of Clauses, so I’m stuck doing the dirty work all by myself. Fortunately, I have a pretty good idea of the toys it will take to get little Don-Don to straighten up and fly right, see himself for who he really is, and mend his lying ways:
Here, then, is my Don-Don wish list to Santa (additional suggestions welcomed):
1. A self-administered lie detector kit which gives $ for every truth and an electrical shock for every lie.
2. Smelling salts and a first aid kit to recover from daily attempts (which Don-Don can never resist) to sneak lies past #1.
3. A game of Trump Monopoly, which is just like regular Monopoly except: only Don-Don and family can play, there are numerous GO-TO-JAIL spaces, and there are no GET-OUT-OF-JAIL-FREE cards.
4. A bully pulpit, complete with a bully who calls Don-Don a “loser” whenever something doesn’t go Don-Don’s way.
5. Don-Don finds Jesus on Fox News, has a revelation that he’s supposed to do unto others as he would have them do unto him, takes the Golden Rule to heart, astounds the world, and gives Sean Hannity a heart attack.
6. A new law permitting any President named Trump to be above the law (but only with the approval of any Special Counsel named Mueller).
7. A Presidential pardon for himself, enough enablers to keep him in office two more years, and a country gone to moral indifference and re-electing him in 2020. Hey, how did that wish slip in here? Could it be written in the stars?
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):
It is with heavy heart that I inform readers of a grave injustice almost unprecedented in the annals of grave injusticedom: MISTERMUSE HAS JUST BEEN STRIPPED OF HIS SECURITY BLANKET by the Lord and Master of the Land of Nod, Donaldo El Trumpo. Disregarding long practice whereby his predecessors first convened/consulted with top underlings in the Blanket Discharge Dept., El Trumpo acted without so much as a wink and a nod to protocol, stating the firing was necessitated by Muse’s “erratic behavior.”
Friends, I put it to you: has anyone (with the possible exception of the President of the United States) displayed more erratic behavior in the annals of erratic behaviordom than El Trumpo? Talk about THE POTUS CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK! Granted, Mister Muse may be guilty of occasional excess tossing and turning in bed, but if Mrs. Muse isn’t complaining, on what basis does El Trumpo base his baseless blasphemy? Muse is admittedly no Rip Van Periwinkle, however that doesn’t make his restless, less-than-sound sleep, “erratic behavior” (at least, until being stripped of his security blanket, thereby making him no longer responsible for his behavior).
In an odd coincidence, this comes on the heels of POTUS revoking the security clearance of former CIA Director, John Brennan, which provoked a protest from 12 former CIA chiefs and this stinging rebuke from retired Navy Admiral, Bill McRaven:
Friends, these are critical times for the future of the Land of Nod and the United States. Patriots of the United States have lost no time in defending John Brennan from the machinations of POTUS. Will you now rise to the defense of Mister Muse for the good of the Land of Nod? Demand that El Trumpo restore my security blanket, and you will sleep better for it….and so, rest assured, will I.
