This one will date a sensitive singer/songwriter poet.
This one will date a member of Hell’s Angels.
I honestly can’t decide which fate is more harrowing. My nocturnal mind races and I conjure up all the unavoidable heartaches they’re going to experience. I move quickly from Lifetime Network heartbreak-of-the-week sob stories to bloody Tarintino revenge fantasies. I know exactly what guys are after. I used to be a guy before I got married and I’m well acquainted with the agenda. How do I keep my temper in check? My understanding is that the more you point out what a creep someone is, the more they’ll gravitate towards said creep. Girls, is that true? If so, it defies logic and gravity. This is going to be an acute problem, especially if she really does end up dating a biker. The poet I’m not worried about.
* * *
I plopped my ass in a seat in Carnegie Hall’s Weill Recital Hall to hear an all-Bach piano recital, which would be a super-boring evening for pretty much everyone, but it’s catnip for me. Bach is my guy. (Well…him and Rush.) I can get pretty lost in his shit and, boy, did I need it.
Carnegie Hall has these weird, other-worldly acoustics. The silence is thick and heavy. When he plays a quiet passage, he gently caresses the keys and the notes float in the air like tiny snowflakes.When he hammers the keys you can feel it in your chest, especially in the lower registers. When a movement ends, he holds the keys down and you can hear the notes sloooowly fade until they’re barely audible. Then he picks his hands up off the keyboard and, I swear to God, you can hear the pads lift off the piano strings and the keys settle into their up position. For real. And the crowd in Carnegie Hall knows how to SHUT UP during the performance. There’s nothing like it. Not my typical Thursday night.
All Bach. Check it out: