When I was young and foolish, as opposed to old and foolish, I wanted to be a singer. I dreamed of it every night and, for a while there, it seemed like the dream might almost come true.

There were many singers I admired. Too many to name. I wished SR's ghost would come to me, of all people. And it did, sort of.

But I distinctly remember, a few years back, thinking, "I'm not going to make it, but if there was one person I could just sing with once... or hang with once... it would be Ray Charles."

He was one of the last, and now he's gone. It's silly to be so sad, because I obviously didn't know him, and I don't claim to be his biggest fan (I only own his greatest hits!)... I just felt like he was a fundamental link between me and my dream in some strange way.

I hate it that I'll never meet him, or Dean Martin, or Stan Rogers, or Waylon Jennings, or any of the other greats that aren't around anymore.

I know. "One day you'll all jam together," right? As for right now, the loss of the Genius of Soul has pricked my heart, and my soul, and my dream, and, foolish or not, it makes me sad.