The older you get the more you realize just how grumpy forty somethings are. Sheesh, who invited them to the party? Perfectly fun thirty somethings are suddenly miserable to be around. They’re easy to spot: just say anything and they’ll complain about it. And complain. And complain. Anyway, if they don’t kill themselves or turn Republican they’ll get over it and twenty years later they’ll be looking at all the shit they no longer have to worry about, giggling like idiots. Actual idiocy is still a decade or so away.
Oh wow, I recognized Matt Monro’s voice. Matt Monro. An obscure tune from an obscure movie, too. Southern Star was no Born Free. Sigh….I can recognize so many crooners by voice alone it creeps me out. When I was a kid I hated that crooning shit. That’s what I called it. I loved my dad’s big band music but couldn’t stand the crooners my mom used to swoon to. Album after album of them. Vaughn Monroe and Al Martino and Tony Martin. Frank Fontaine, Vic Damone, and Sergio Franchi. Eddie Fisher, that bum. But I find myself liking Andy Williams and Robert Goulet and not minding Steve Lawrence at all. Steve Lawrence? Yes, Steve Lawrence. Is this what getting old is like? Sleepy becomes a good thing? Oh god. Look at me, one Matt Monro tune and I’m shaking. Another aging rock’n’roll kid terrified that memories of Perry Como will morph into nostalgia.