I could fly higher than an emo

Last night was a light rain, which meant the distinctive sound of oversized yuppytrucks spinning all four wheels on wet pavement as bro guys looked for the heart of Friday night. Today is one of those beautiful scrubbed post-rain Southern California days and I’m about to go and enjoy it. A. is supposed to have dinner with me before she goes to her séance (don’t ask), and it’s always nice to see her.

I was making a mental list of things that always come up in conversations with my group of friends. So far I have:

  1. Drugs & alcohol
  2. Bad art
  3. Talking shit on other characters from the patio
  4. The same 50 stories
  5. The follies of the rich
  6. Gadgets & science
  7. Peoples’ shitty jobs

We should probably cut out #1, #3, and #4 but hey that’s us. I’ve always had a group of friends like this, starting when I was 13 or so, so it’s a comfort zone for me to have smart, bitter, self-justifying, and somewhat blocked people around. People like me.

When I was a kid, a lot of us in the house played piano. I played classical, my brother played that and a lot of ragtime, and my dad sometimes played jazz. To this day I have a nostalgic reflex response to stuff like solo Monk, and anything Scott Joplin. I think the Bach Toccata & Fugue in D Minor has more of a PTSD reflex for me, since it was my final huge performance piece before I went to college and quit playing, and it was a huge public disaster. Oddly, Mozart’s “Jupiter” symphony is a lovely memory for me even though it represents a huge musical failure. When I was 12 or so I tried for a while to learn violin, and was in a youth Symphony for one season. I was a terrible, horrible, no good second violinist and it was emotionally bruising for me. I finally quit. However, I remember the amazing high of playing in in an orchestra, being INSIDE the instrument, and that symphony was our big piece.

And now, a vegetarian corn dog for me.

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