The Temptations – Michael Seidel, writer

Mood: coffeetized

March 26, 2024 is a Tuesday. I mention it because it is upon us. Winter and spring heroics are vivdly displayed in a skybleau vivant of blue, gray, and white pieces. Rain was here yesterday and last night. Might it come again today? All signs point to ask again later. It’s 42 F. Sunshine is shimmering in around the clouds, alleviating the chill. 58. That’s what they say our high will be.

When I looked out at the mixed composition of clouds, The Neurons began “Cloud Nine” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark cloudy). I enjoy the 1968 song by The Temptations. It sets up a tempting tableau.

(Cloud 9) [Paul:] You can be what you wanna be.
(Cloud 9) [Dennis:] You ain’t got no responsibility.
(Cloud 9) [Eddie:] Every man, every man is free.
(Cloud 9) [Dennis:] You’re a million miles from reality

h/t to AZLyrics.com

The interplay by the singers and the upbeat tempo and optimistic lyrics made it a childhood favorite. Don’t mind it in the morning mental music stream at all.

When I was young, I wondered, “Why cloud nine?” What’s going on with clouds one through eight? Are there higher clouds? Like, number ten?

The first question was answered by a teacher. Sort of. He suggested that “Cloud Nine” was from Dante’s Paradiso. As a twelve-year-old, I’d never heard of it. An elderly neighbor later said it was about angels. In a meteorology class in the Air Force, a sergeant talked about the classifications of clouds, telling us that nine is the highest level of clouds.

While musing about it today, I found a neat little article on udiscovermusic.com covering these things. They also noted that it used to be cloud seven used as a euphoric state.

‘Indeed, improbable as it sounds, as far back as 1896, the first edition of the International Cloud Atlas defined ten types of cloud, of which the cumulonimbus, rising to 6.2 miles, was declared the highest that a cloud could be. In 1960, the Dictionary Of American Slang defined “cloud seven” – not nine – as meaning “in a euphoric state.”’

Despite all this, today’s edition of “Cloud Nine” is by Beach Bunny. It’s a 2020 TikTok hit and no at all like he 1968 beats. I like checking out TikTok to see what our young are tuning into and heard the song on there. I don’t recall when. But dialing up the song today on YouTube reminded me of it existence. So I’m playing it just to spite The Neurons. Yes, it’s petty.

I’ve read Beach Bunny’s song described as a ‘giddy love song’. With a quick beat and a breathless, sometimes abrupt delivery, that seems like an apt description for the quick little number.

Stay strong, be positive, lean forward, and vote blue if you’re’n the U.S. and a citizen, etc. Coffee has been served. French roast. Here’s Beach Bunny. Cheers

I sing to my cats.

I don’t want to. I feel pressured. They follow me around like they expect something. I give them food. They sniff it and turn away, a definite, non-verbal, “No, that’s not what I want.”

They do like being petted. But if I’m petting one, the others become petty and jealous. They’re like, “Hey, why is he getting petted? Pet me.”

And I tire of petting the cats. It’s hard work stroking bellies and backs, and scratching chins and ears. The cats never want it to end, grabbing my hand if I try to pull away. It’s also hairy work. Or furry work, I guess. I suppose there is a difference between fur and hair.

So, I have a repertoire of songs I sing to them. My current favorite is “I Can’t Get Next to You,” by the Temptations. If you know the lyrics, then let me tell you, I change some verses to make it more relevant to the cats. Like, I sing, “I can change the litter box, just by waving my hands.” I also substitute “cat” for “girl.” So, I sing, “Cat, you’re blowing my mind. Cause I can’t get, next to you.”

One thing I always sing as I hear it in the song is “Chick-a-boom, chick-a-boom. Chick-a-boom, boom, boom.” And I dance to that part.

The cats are leery about it. They watch me with an expression that asks, “What’s wrong with this fool?” Sometimes, they raise a paw in warning. (I call that a pawarning.) They say, “Watch it. Stay back. I have claws, and I’m not afraid to use them.” I can tell you that this statements is true. They’re firm disciplinarians with their claws.

The singing amuses me. The cats don’t find this as amusing as me. Neither does my wife. She says, with dour expressions and deep sighs, “Not this, again.”

Now, since I can’t change the litter box just by waving my hands, I have go do it manually. Because, even though these felines are indoor and outdoor critters, they’re civilized. They only ‘do their business’ inside.

Chick-a-boom, chick-a-boom.

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