Here's a thought that occurred to me just now, and which I expressed aloud (to an uncaring audience of one):

There is no occasion for which "Spanish Flea" is not appropriate.

Weddings, game shows, commercials for fuel-efficient automobiles, cartoons, or funerals: "Spanish Flea" is there, creating the soundtrack to your life. Sing it today! No, really: sing it right now. You don't even have to know the words, just sing nonsense syllables and dance self-consciously, one foot forward then back, then the other. Dance like you're waiting for the UPS man to bring your new Lark scooter. You've got it now, and I, for one, like it.

Having "Spanish Flea" running in an endless mental loop can block out lots of things, for instance, the man outside screaming "Fuckin' assholes!" over and over. "Think it's fuckin' funny, you fuckin' assholes?" Funny? Why, no! I'm just smiling gently and imagining the horn section of a large band formed of kittens, all in tiny chartreuse uniforms, playing "Spanish Flea." Look at 'em go! They're tilting their heads in unison.

Now, there are fire engines and police cruisers outside, and I think they must be here for the yelling man, although why he would require fire engines escapes me. Maybe they plan to hose him down, to calm his yelling. Or maybe they will make him an honorary fire chief for the day, and allow him to ride around town in the hook and ladder with the dalmatians. It's possible that the yelling man has a self-esteem problem that could be mediated with a little positive attention from a uniformed public safety officer.

But I can't really say right now, because I'm watching imaginary kittens wearing little sombreros edged in pom-pom fringe, playing "Spanish Flea."

Star of the day. . .Herb Alpert