Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs, CA

Aside from agreeing to record with the Muppet (sort of...), I haven't done a whole lot musically since coming back. Hell, like I've had time. To tide you folks over until I commit genus to tape, I have ordered a repackage of some of my earlier material, because, well, that's what you do when you aren't recording or performing. If there's one thing an entertainer can count on, it's you people shelling out money for the same thing over and over again... not that I'm criticizing anyone or anything, but all we gotta' say is that it's been remastered, and you're all out buying all over again.

Anyway, through an agreement with RCA, I've just released "Frank Sinatra, A Voice In Time (1939 - 1952)". Yeah, I'm saving the really good years for later, but RCA doesn't carry that stuff. I'm still in negotiations with the other leaches at Capitol and Reprise for a similar package and even considering re-releasing my old "Greatest Hits" albums. For you freaks who must have everything, there's some alternate takes on this new one, and some of the commercials that I did way back when. So you know, start buying, alright? Christmas is just around the corner. Francis needs a new airplane. You get the drift.

In recognition of someone's brilliance, recognizing my brilliance, there's a gold, "Thanks, Sinatra" lighter going out to a cute little number named Becky Howard over at the Deseret Morning News in Utah. This is the first one I've sent out to a chick (with no strings attached that is). I don't ordinarily agree with or even mention the press, but little Becky hit the nail on the head reviewing my new RCA release. I guess the press ain't all bad, or maybe it's my Mormon following (don't know why that is, could be I've had more wives than most of them, which somehow makes us paisan). You can catch her brilliant write up here. Send her a note of thanks if you get the inclination.

OK, I got an early morning (11:00 AM!) meeting with the architects for the new casino we're building. I haven't selected a firm yet, so it'll kind of be like a casting call without the couch (who sleeps with architects?). It's gonna' be a morning of bad design and even worse ass kissin'. I don't know what I want, but I'll know it when I see it and when I do see it, I'll still send 'em back for revisions. Nothing's more fun that making a perfectionist egghead like an architect sweat.

Ciao,

Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs, CA

The phone rings. So I answer with my usual greeting, “Talk.” A thin high pitched voice is on the other end, I can’t tell if it’s a broad or not.

“Frank?”

“Who’s this?” (I hate it when I have to fucking ask.)

“It’s Spector”

“Ronnie, how’ve ya’ been doll?”

Little known fact: I love Ronnie Spector to death.

“It’s... it’s Phil”

“What about him? Is that asshole fucking with you again Ronnie? You just say the word and I’ll..”

“No, Frank, THIS IS PHIL.”

For the first time in my life, I wished it had been Jerry Lewis. I don’t have time for this joker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail or something? What do you want?”

“Actually, I’m riding back from the courthouse. It’s was a mistrial, if you must know. So I’m free and I’d like to talk to you Frank.”

“Listen ya’ over-hyped Chia Pet, WE ARE talking now. Whaddya’ want? You’ve got 30 seconds to spit it out.”

“Please, Frank. Don’t shout at me I just went through a terrible...”

“15 seconds pal.”

“OK, ok, ok. I want to make a record.”

“So go hire a studio. What’s your point.”

“I want to make a record with you, Frank.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one makes records WITH me, I make the records. People work FOR me when I make a record, not WITH me?”

“That’s not how I work, Frank”

“Then you don’t work, Phyllis”

There was silence on the other end of the line, then I could hear Phil whispering to someone else,

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t, he called me Phyllis!”

“5 seconds. 4, 3, 2...”

Sounding desperate, “Can I meet with you Frank to talk it over, please Frank?”

“Why should I waste my time, Shooter?”

“I DIDN”T FUCKING SHOOT...” sigh, “because I want to work with you.”

I bang the phone on the desk 2 or 3 times, really hard, I can hear him screaming in pain from the shot in the ear it must’ve given him.

“I’m sorry ‘Wall of Noise’, my phone is starting to sound like one of your records, did I hear you say something about you NOT working?”

More silence on the end. I may have found a new hobby. I love twisting this prick.

“Time’s up Fozzie Bear.” I said and then hung up the phone.

Predictably, ten seconds later, the phone starts ringing. I let it get to the fourth ring before I pick it up.

“Talk.”

In a speed that would make Evelyn Woodhead proud, Phil sputters, “I want to make a record for you. I want to make a record for you. I want to work for you Frank. There, I said it”

I decide to fuck with him further.

“Who’s this?”

“SPECTOR!”

This is just too easy, “Heya’ Ronnie, how ya’ doing, you wont believe who I was just...”

“PHIL SPECTOR, PHIL!!! SPECTOR!!!”

“What’ya’ psychic Ronnie? That’s exactly who...”

“NO, I”M PHIL SPECTOR, PHIL SPECTOR!!!”

“Listen here Phil Spector Phil Spector. For someone who’s begging for a job, you got 2 strikes against you already. No one EVER interrupts The Chairman while he speaks and NO ONE shouts at The Chairman, EVER. I DO THE SHOUTING. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU FUCKING MUPPET?”

More predictable silence followed by muttering on his end of the line. I can hear a woman talking to him. “Do what he says Phil, whatever it takes. He can put you back on top again! Here, let me talk to him.”

A real woman’s voice comes on the line, “Mr. Sinatra?” She sounded scrumptious.

“Who might I have the pleasure of talking to, baby?”

“This is Rachelle Spector. I hope I’m not bothering you.”