“It’s stuck in my brain,” he answered. “Blame that television commercial.”
He has a point. The ad agency no doubt chose Frank Sinatra’s rendition of the song for that particular commercial, because it’s addictive, as many of Sinatra’s songs are.
In the eighties, though it seems like yesterday, I exercised while listening to a cassette of Fly me to the Moon, I've got you under my skin, That’s why the Lady is a tramp, That old black magic, My way, to name a few. As I jogged around my house, Sinatra sang to me, making my workout bearable.
When he came to the Atlanta Omni in 1988, I went to see him. I brought along binoculars for the momentous occasion. I wanted to view old blue eyes up close.
At 73 years old, his singing had lost some of its steam. Camel cigarettes and Jack Daniels had taken their toll. I've read he had a preference for Jack, “two fingers with a splash of water.” (I gave one of my characters in A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, a fondness for the drink. Had I subconsciously thought of Sinatra? Maybe).