For all my self-professed rock and roll badness, I'll admit that I melt like a hunk of Brie when I hear certain sentimental songs. It's shameful and I know better, really, yet I enjoy it--like most of my leisure activities.

This morning, I awoke with a ludicrous and sentimental song in my mental jukebox, "Times of Your Life" by Paul Anka. It has the same general emotional impact of a Kodak commercial (which, as I understand it, is how it began its life, back in the day) but I love its saccharine embrace. I love it and will sing along, gently waving my arms to emulate the swaying branches of a wise old willow that's stood placidly in place while life's trifles passed by, and yes, that is exactly the correct simile to use.

You think of your own simile, and I will sing to you the verse I think of as the saddest (as is dictated, conveniently, therein):

Here comes the saddest part
The seasons are passing one by one
So gather moments while you may
Collect the dreams you dream today
Remember, will you remember
The times of your life?

Did you perceive the sorrow, the lyrical sorrow in my tone? It was there. I was trying to express the sentiment, "Oh, my God! We are all dying! TAKE SOME PICTURES BEFORE THEY NAIL THE LID ON YOUR COFFIN!" Is it a touch maudlin to employ the process of aging rapidly as a vehicle to sell film? Who am I to judge? I'm in the thrall of Paul Anka's syrupy charisma, singing along to the grandfather of Green Day's "Good Riddance."

I can't explain the song's sudden appearance, any more than I can explain the guy who called me at 11:11 this morning, whispering urgently about some troublesome neighbors he wishes to report to the police. I do not work for the police department, but I was able, when his lava flow of words finally slowed, to suggest that he find other living quarters. It was the least I could do. No, wait: it was the most I could do.

It's getting a little weird today, here in Mercury's shadow. Just when I could use some clarity, Mercury slides back into Scorpio and muddies the waters.

Al just wrote to say that "Pop-a-Top" is playing in the lobby of the Congress Hotel in Tucson, where he's working this morning. Imagining that is bringing me back to the time when I rolled into Tucson with a carload of clothes and my protesting cat, and didn't leave for almost a year. It's disjointed that whenever I'm bored and restless, I want to go to Tucson--the world capital of lassitude, and hardly a cure for restlessness--but I do. As I sit here in Mercury's shadow with the Queen palm outside my window flickering light across my face, I want to leave everything behind and drive away, singing sad songs from the '70s by myself, in a car with a busted radio, destination to be determined.

Autumn is not the traditional time for rebirth, but it always engenders in me the need for change. Then again, Scorpio is the house of Death and Resurrection, running from October 23 - November 21, and I am Scorpio rising, so perhaps it's just my nature.

Here's a thought on Mercury's transit back into Scorpio, from astrologycom.com:

All areas of communication are affected, especially in matters related to hidden things, sexual encounters, passionate commitments, jealousy, investigations and the occult. This period brings travel snafus and missed appointments of all kinds. Documents can go astray. Be sure to carry a diary and refer to it often.

Amen, amen.

Star of the day. . .Jim Ed Brown