The other night as I was heading home, I got to thinking about Cabaret (the movie and its theme song). I wondered, "what good IS sitting alone in my room?" Figured I needed to hear a little music play.
So, in keeping with the spirit of the film (and aforementioned theme song), I decided to go out. A solas (that's alone - for those of you who are not in Southern California and/or not constantly exposed to the beauty of the Spanish language). Without friends of pretense, I made my way to my local watering hole, NuNu's.
There, I spotted a girl across the room. She looked familiar, like this singer who I think is both the cat's meow and its pajamas (btw: who the fuck puts pajamas on their cat?). I was too far away to tell definitively if it was her though. Then this guy sidles up to the bar and starts talking to the bartender about her, and how she had a gig down the street, and how they all stopped by afterwords to wind down a little.
Cool.
I go over to their table, plant myself in front of her, interrupt their conversation, and say what I always say to celebrities or people in possession of enormous talent. I say, "you're, uh, cool." Or "amazing" or "great" or something equally insightful. You see, I just can't help it. I turn into a blathering idiot in these situations. Under any other circumstances I can small talk along with the best of them, but in the presence of what I see as greatness, I choke up. The verbal equivalent of a "thumbs up" dribbles out of my mouth, I press flesh if I'm lucky (that's a handshake to you unhip cats) and then I flee. Happens almost every time.
Not this time. She recognizes me from before, doubtless one of the other times I've gone up to her in the past and said about the same thing. We chat for a minute or two. Then I flee.
A couple of drinks later I stoke up the courage to ask to take a photo with her. Those of you who know me will be not the least bit surprised to hear that I had a camera in my pokcket, and I wanted a snapshot with her. So I go back over and ask for it.
I get the shot, and she notices that my camera fits into a cigarette case. She thinks this is cool and wants to know if I smoke. Of course, I do. We end up smoking and drinking and hanging out for a while. I also get to meet a couple of her friends.
Now, a lot of you out there, especially you Californians, are against smoking. Granted, it is a filthy, unhealthy habit. To be fair though, so is drinking.
Fortunately, both have a sociable, convivial side that I have milked on more than one occasion. So I say, "thank god for smoking and drinking!" Big plus also for the not sitting alone in your room (and coming to hear the music play instead). That night life felt a little like a Cabaret, and now I'm like old chums with the lovely and talented Romy Kaye.
Damn that girl can *sing*.
So, in keeping with the spirit of the film (and aforementioned theme song), I decided to go out. A solas (that's alone - for those of you who are not in Southern California and/or not constantly exposed to the beauty of the Spanish language). Without friends of pretense, I made my way to my local watering hole, NuNu's.
There, I spotted a girl across the room. She looked familiar, like this singer who I think is both the cat's meow and its pajamas (btw: who the fuck puts pajamas on their cat?). I was too far away to tell definitively if it was her though. Then this guy sidles up to the bar and starts talking to the bartender about her, and how she had a gig down the street, and how they all stopped by afterwords to wind down a little.
Cool.
I go over to their table, plant myself in front of her, interrupt their conversation, and say what I always say to celebrities or people in possession of enormous talent. I say, "you're, uh, cool." Or "amazing" or "great" or something equally insightful. You see, I just can't help it. I turn into a blathering idiot in these situations. Under any other circumstances I can small talk along with the best of them, but in the presence of what I see as greatness, I choke up. The verbal equivalent of a "thumbs up" dribbles out of my mouth, I press flesh if I'm lucky (that's a handshake to you unhip cats) and then I flee. Happens almost every time.
Not this time. She recognizes me from before, doubtless one of the other times I've gone up to her in the past and said about the same thing. We chat for a minute or two. Then I flee.
A couple of drinks later I stoke up the courage to ask to take a photo with her. Those of you who know me will be not the least bit surprised to hear that I had a camera in my pokcket, and I wanted a snapshot with her. So I go back over and ask for it.
I get the shot, and she notices that my camera fits into a cigarette case. She thinks this is cool and wants to know if I smoke. Of course, I do. We end up smoking and drinking and hanging out for a while. I also get to meet a couple of her friends.
Now, a lot of you out there, especially you Californians, are against smoking. Granted, it is a filthy, unhealthy habit. To be fair though, so is drinking.
Fortunately, both have a sociable, convivial side that I have milked on more than one occasion. So I say, "thank god for smoking and drinking!" Big plus also for the not sitting alone in your room (and coming to hear the music play instead). That night life felt a little like a Cabaret, and now I'm like old chums with the lovely and talented Romy Kaye.
Damn that girl can *sing*.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
As for the tips regarding more inspirational prose, I thank you.
sj
That is awesome that you approached her. Although you might have thought you sounded foolish, I am sure that she was flattered and appreciated your genuine compliment.
Thank you for your praise on my writing. Lately I am feeling every little occurance with such freaky intensity, that I have to pong it back out, whether by journal entries, or yelling out happy songs as I drive to school in my little green car. I find the Carpenters Top of The World is a perfect song for this, but any pop song from 1976 will work too.