When my daughter heard this recording on XM’s 40s radio, her comment was, “I’m really sorry I don’t live in an age of romantic love songs.” It’s not the best song in the world, but it certainly exemplifies a lost romance when it comes to music.
Drowning is drowning, and it’s not the way I want to die. Nevertheless, there would be a certain symmetry if I were to die as this man did, drowning in a vat of melted chocolate.
As it is, my dream is to do the Bing Crosby thing: be somewhere gorgeous, doing the thing you like to do most (in his case, golfing at a resort overlooking the Atlantic ocean), and then being felled instantly be a massive heart attack.
Blago’s crimes notwithstanding (which are spectacular but strangely banal given (a) that they’re normative for Chicago and (b) that they, thank God, don’t involve bloodshed), nothing piques my interest this morning and I’ve got a pile of (paying) projects awaiting me. Meanwhile, I thought you’d enjoy this novelty number from the Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby, recorded at a time when quality singing and delightful lyrics were still valued: