The About Me page

As I was rebuilding this blog, I skipped over the “About” page. As if this blog isn’t narcissistic enough, the “About” page seemed like the cherry on the navel-gazing sundae.

Well, I finally got around to writing that page and putting it together. It’ll probably look this way for a long time, so don’t feel the need to rush over and take a peak.

It’s been great working on it, though, because I’ve listened to some great music.

Recently, Spotify added the Beatles, which is about the best thing since sliced bread. I haven’t really listened to the Beatles for decades, even though they and Bob Dylan were what I listened to most growing up.

Putting the Beatles on shuffle is like jumping into a time capsule and going back to the late 70’s and early 80’s. Each song conjures up some deeply buried memory and brings it into sharp focus, even if it’s just a picture or mood or fragment of a conversation. Like storytelling, music is magic in its transformative nature.

Now, I’m listening to Chet Baker play “Moonlight Becomes You.” When I was in elementary and middle-school, I played trumpet. If had discovered Chet when I was in the 8th grade, instead of in college, I think my life may have turned out much differently. He was so great a player and singer…and so cool and good looking.

I remember going to the old Vogue with some friends from the theatre department to see Let’s Get Lost, the Bruce Weber movie about Chet. I didn’t really know anything about it. I’d just read something about the movie somewhere and knew I had to see it.

Weber made these really sexy commercials for Calvin Klein fragrances, and the movie was shot in the same kind of dreamy, stylized way that took the edge off of how sad and lost Chet seemed.

Even though his life seemed like one continuous train wreck, I fell in love with the guy, which is the effect he seemed to have on all the victims in his life.

A few years later, I found myself in a piano bar in Greenwich Village with some friends. Twelve Oaks. Fair Oaks. Something with Oaks in the name.* It was in a basement, and anyone who had the nerve could sign up for a slot to sing a song for the crowd. There was this really old lady there who played the piano and seemed to know every standard in the book.

When it was my turn, she barked out my name and I came forward to sing “Time After Time.” When she asked what key, I must have had that deer-in-the-headlights look. She softened a bit and asked me to sing the first bar of the song to her quietly. When I did, we had the key and away we went. The crowd was treated to a very shaky rendition of the song that night, but I thin, nobody but my wife and friends were paying attention.

Anyway. It’s an easy Thursday night…waiting for SNOWMAGEDDON!

Stay tuned…


*I looked it up. It was called Five Oaks