Letters of Note: Come on, George. Loosen up. Swing, man.

And no more of that talk about “the tragedy of fame.” The tragedy of fame is when no one shows up and you’re singing to the cleaning lady in some empty joint that hasn’t seen a paying customer since Saint Swithin’s day. And you’re nowhere near that; you’re top dog on the top rung of a tall ladder called Stardom, which in latin means thanks-to-the-fans who were there when it was lonely.

Frank Sinatra rips George Michael a new one. Perhaps my favorite letter of note yet. Which is saying a lot because every single thing posted is a treasure.

Also, I would do boundless and unseemly things to spend one minute as the cleaning lady at either of these gigs.