Going to a Gumbo

I just got back from Safeway where I bought two limes for my gin (and something for dinner). Breezing through the frozen foods, the face of Smokey Robinson caught my eye. First I thought he'd gotten himself trapped in the freezer, but I came to my senses and realized Berry Gordy would never let that happen. A vested youth stocking glace eyed me cautiously, as I had yelped just a pitch higher than Bernadette Peters stepping on a slug. "Can I help you?" I asked, beating him to the punch. But he was already onto other adventures in the international foods aisle.

So I returned to Smokey, now realizing his face was on a box of frozen gumbo, Smokey's "The Soul Is In The Bowl " Seafood Gumbo, to be exact. Here was Motown's chief songwriter in their heyday (looking like Motown's chief songwriter in his heyday) gracing a box of frozen seafood gumbo. And according to its website, "Smokey is genuinely excited about his own line of food products!"

I'm not mocking Smokey at all. I love Smokey. Dylan didn't call him America's greatest poet because he owed him money. Byron would've shit his fucking pants if he ever read the lyrics to "Tracks of My Tears."

But I still haven't warmed up yet to Smokey's dreadlocks. What do I know though? When it comes to matters of hair and hairlines, you can cue "Tears of a Clown."