“You Got the Classical, Man”
How a room was assembled in which most people knew me is still a source of amazement, but the other night I went out and found just that. It reminded me of days past on the festival circuit when people went out of their way to flatter me and I got good at idle chatter, and holding my liquor.
But a few hours into the night I was drained. Perhaps I’m just out of practice, or perhaps it was the result of not having really stopped since January 1st, but my legs felt like lead, so I perched on a stool next to some aging chicken satay and looked around the room, catching my breath.
Of course, this being an alternate universe, it took about six seconds before somebody came over to say hello and shake my hand. It’s flattering, it really is, and my level of recognition is low enough that it’s a far cry from a problem, so I roll with it. We chatted for a few minutes about film and how we should work together some day.
Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a wild-haired woman with a flat face like Eartha Kitt heading my way. She leaned forward, took my hand and pressed her legs against mine. ”You got the classical, man.”
She leaned in harder. ”I don’t know nothing, I just a painter, but you got the classical. I’m not saying you look like Marlon Brando, but you got the classical.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Yeah, man, it’s good.”
Her legs had now somehow pushed mine apart and I was wondering what could possibly happen next, when suddenly she turned away and said, ”I leave you now. Okay. I leave you now. But you got the classical.”
And off she went.
As I drifted off into the New York night I wondered just what she meant. I ambled down Broadway towards the subway, a little too much beer in my belly. The air was crisp. The streets were emptying. A few cabs slowed to see if I wanted to jump in, but I kept walking, past the shop displays, amidst the twinkling lights, the holiness of the city circus.
It wasn’t me that had the classical. It was the city, and the night. I just walk the streets and keep my eyes wide, that’s all.
For the Mineralava Musings…