I miss him

I miss Frank Sinatra. I finished The Chairman last night, the final volume of James Kaplan's massive biography of Francis Albert and I was riveted. Now that it's over, I'm exhausted. And absolutely everyone else on the planet seems dull in comparison.

He was a peerless artist, a tender lover, a loyal friend, a compulsive womanizer, a cruel bully, a superficial social climber, a beloved father, a quick intellect, and a Mafia groupie ... sometimes all on the same page!

I hate the way it ended. Not the book, Frank's life. This lion among men, this great romancer, the original jet setter who would fly to London for dinner, had his last meal -- half a grilled cheese sandwich -- from a wheelchair. He was senile and impotent. Heartbreaking.

Therefore I've decided to simply not grow old. No, thank you.