Ray's Place: Retirement, Disappointing Heroes, Dorky New Phrases

Dear Ray, Since you aren’t making music anymore can you comment on the feeling of being “afraid” of retirement? I look forward to the day I have enough of a stash to tell people to fuck off and I’m finally enjoying life. What am I missing? Joshua  

Dear Joshua,

I ain’t retired from music! Are you insane? I’m surprised I’m even answerin’ this! I just got a new small microphone and everything, which I can use to record song ideas in the car. Just yesterday I started a new rap: 

Chicken meat, 

Drop the beat, 

Dip the bone, 

Feel the heat. 

So screw the idea that I am retired! (But not screw you, specifically, because I ain’t like that. I’m all about love.) 

(The song is about eating chicken wings at Sixteen Degrees of Francis, this new French art-type wings place down by the airport. I don’t think it’ll last long, but they got this dip of ketchup mixed just so with peanut butter, and I go real hard on it. You’ll probably see this track droppin’ soon under my hip hop alter ego, Rock Sauce.)

Anyhow, I couldn’t retire from music if I tried. Music and me are one and the same. So don’t think about retirement, think about a way to make a living off your essential fascination. You just need to un-retire from the wrong life. 

Sorry if this was a hard and weird answer. I am on acid. 

Ray::...:..:. . .   . 

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Hey Ray. How do you deal with one of your heroes disappointing you? Not like missing a meet and greet disappointing, but more skeletons in the closet with some viscera attached kinda disappointing? —Omnithea  

Dear Omnithea, 

Show me a person who ain’t a star in the streets and a stain in the sheets, and I will launch a premium hoagie (in plastic wrap) from my house to yours. I will consult scientists on this.  

We each got three selves. A public self, a private self, and a secret self. Public is what people you don’t know see. Private is what friends and lovers see. Secret is the stuff you know better than to share — that animal nasty that bubbles up from the reptile brain we all got as a foundation. 

If you could look all the way down, nobody is clean, or innocent, or saintly. (Try it on yourself!) Heroes are just unlucky in that a lot of their life gets seen. The average denizen sins and dies safely in obscurity; any lingering scraps on the skeleton of the character of renown will always be found by the wasps and maggots of time. (I cribbed that last line from a speech Connie made at dinner the other night, after his pub got a bad Yelp review.) 

I guess what I mean is, enjoy the good your hero managed to produce, because any good is an unlikely miracle in this brutal and uncaring world, and any hope or beauty is real, real helpful. 

This ain’t even that original of a thought. It’s just well-put because I have smart friends and also I am on acid. 

…:.::..:::.:.:...:Ray

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Ray, I need some advice. As a man of years, how do I deal with young people using janky terms like "holding space", "plant-based", "clean" in regards to purchaseable foods? It makes me want to retreat into the nether world. It's like all of reality has been annexed by HR and Marketing departments. —Alexander 

I heard on a podcast that zoomers can’t cum any more (screen time rubicon), so maybe just let them have their weird words. 

-=-=RayMongous=-=-

       . . . . . . : : . . . : : : (en acide)

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Confidential to Roland in Herefordshire: I find that a 3-12-8 blend helps any roses with a contrasting reverse hold their initial hue set well after clipping. (I also ionize the water with a little galvanic acid.)