As far back as I can remember listening to music, Aretha Franklin has been part of my life. She was my first idol. She made me feel like a natural woman at 15. No one ever surpassed her effect on me as a vocalist. Amy is a close second. But Aretha, she is a goddess.

Her piano playing, her gospel singing, her infinite coolness, her strength, her femininity, her dignity, her furs, what more could you ask for?

The last record of hers I actually spent cash money on was Young, Gifted and Black, a fucking masterpiece, but I have spent many happy hours listening to her on our digital files of a billion songs. Just like everyone, I feel like she is singing to me personally, one sister to another.

I’m writing now because I don’t want to say goodbye. Long live my darling first love and may we all think of her at every stage, young, old, fat, thin, fully alive and blessed with that commanding, singular, phenomenal voice. Our Queen forever and ever.

In recent days, two idiots nice individuals have cited my hatefulness as a moral flaw in my nature (not to mention my blog.)   I will point out yet again that the title of this blog is “Godammit, ‘m Mad! and I’m Getting Madder,” not “Look What I Love.”

However, just to remind anyone who doesn’t know what a fucking cornucopia of love I am, here is a list of fifty people I love, in the order they popped into my brain:

Patti Smith, William Borroughs, Van Morrison, Vermeer, William Bouguereau, Aretha Franklin, Thomas Hardy, Elvis Costello, Edith Wharton, Flaubert, Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, Kingsley Amis, Mervin Peake, Johnny Depp, Ingrid Bergman, Chris Rock, Richard Feinman, Arthur Lee, Bob Dylan, George Eliot, Amy Winehouse, Denton Welch, Balzac, Vivienne Leigh, Brigitte Bardot, Prince, Amanda Palmer, Donna Summer, Paul Erdos, Frida Kahlo, Bert Jansch, Fred Neil, Iris Murdoch, Joan Armatrading, Tolstoy, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar, Oscar Wilde, Karen Horney, Derek & Clive, Neil Young, Tim Buckley, Leonard Cohen. Robert DiNiro, Alice Miller, Yukio Mishima, Ricky Gervais, Larry David, Tony Duquette.

See?

Now, who do you love that I should love too?

I’m not happy about Obama’s choice of Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at his inauguration. Why is there an “invocation” anyway, and why does religion have a place in the inauguration? If religion plays a role in this event, why have a big fat Christian evangelist and not a Jewish rabbi or Buddhist priest?

I thought Rick Warren was just kind of harmless until I learned that he is a staunch opponent of gay marriage and an unrepentant homophobe. He was an outspoken supporter of Proposition 8 in California, and he compares gays to pedophiles and pizza.

On the other hand, he defends himself by saying that he’s crazy about Melissa Ethridge and that he’s “eaten in gay homes.” I guess that means he’s even eaten GAY FOOD, too!

What an idiot. Change Melissa Ethridge to Aretha Franklin, and gay homes to Black homes, and you’ve got an idiotic statement from an obvious bigot.

What makes Christians so frightened of gays?! It makes even less sense that the rest of their belief system. Thank goodness we have attorney general Jerry Brown to ask the California Supreme Court to invalidate Prop. 8, saying it “deprives people of the right to marry, an aspect of liberty that the Supreme Court has concluded is guaranteed by the California Constitution.”

I’d like Rick Warren to mind his own business and let the rest of us live our lives as we please, whether Purposeful or Purposeless. He is welcome to Melissa Ethridge though.

The Grammy Awards show was all about Amy Winehouse, but here’s what else happened.

Frank Sinatra, who won’t stay dead, talked about the awards and then joined Alicia Keyes in a duet. Alicia looked gorgeous, even though her hairdo was crazy. That Rihanna girl pranced around with Morris Day and his band, who were probably too old for anyone to remember them except for  their buddy Prince. Prince looked fabulous in a fitted red suit and dark sunglasses with diamante accents.

Some idiot introduced Tina Turner as the Queen of Soul. Girl! Everyone knows that’s Aretha’s title. Anyway, Tina looked a little scary in a silver lame jumpsuit but she still knew how to move. Beyonce joined her,   wearing a silver mini that highlighted her enormous legs. Her shorter blonde hair and new face were not enough to erase the My Pretty Pony effect.

I think John Mayer came out and accompanied someone on guitar, although I may be thinking of the David Letterman show. All you can think about when John Mayer appears is “Eeoow!” anyway.

Kanye sang his big hit and I know I wasn’t alone in thinking, what about your Mama? Sure enough, he had the word MAMA carved into his hair. I asked my teenager if he would do the same for me, were I to die before he accepted his Grammy award. He argued over some technicalities but I believe we have a deal.

Tom Hanks gave some award to the Beatles. Paul couldn’t be there, because he can’t just give Heather the money and call it a day. The always excruciating Cirque du Soleil performed a creepy routine to Day in the Life. If only that girl had fallen off the rope! Heather could have helped out with a new leg.

Aretha sang, accompanied by a gospel choir, a mountainous vision in a sea green dress. Be as fat as you want, Aretha, you are the Queen.

Two guys sang an aria or something, and the Foo Fighters had lank, greasy hair. Finally, the live by satellite performance by Amy Winehouse, in London. Amy looked gorgeous but very nervous. She rushed through two songs, screwing up a few times and wiggling her hips in obvious terror. Her desperation to prove herself was touching, just like her shock at winning the award. She sent out her thanks to “My Blake, incarcerated” and hugged her tiny haggard Mum.

Then the Album of the Year was mistakenly given to Herbie Hancock, who played the race card as he accepted the honor that rightly belonged to My Amy, not in rehab.