Al and Nora do not have a phone, so they stop by, which I like. It's old-timey and small towney and makes me wistful for back when cell phones did not exist and you just had to show up places and hope for the best. They stopped by today to use my phone and tell me about the piano recital at Heaven tonight.
The recital was a dress up thing, but I dressed all fatigues by accident. Liz kept calling me "Fidel". The reciters were wearing fancy outfits by local art-school designer. Kimi wore a see-thru lace dress and mens underwear, another girl, who sang Lacrymosa from Mozart's Requiem was dressed as a sailor-baby and tugged on her navy collar as she trilled. My friend Faten wore a piratey coat that was velvet and had one trillion buttons, ruffled panties like a baby wears and had a drawn-on eyeliner moustache that curled up at the ends. She had to unzip and remove her knee high leather heel-boots to play Greig's Norweigen Concerto. Not to play favorites, but she killed it with the Greig.
People in Chicago like to dress up. I think it helps them justify the cocaine (thats just a hunch). Many of the people at the recital looked like they were going to a party on a sailboat. In 1983. The same way they dressed last time I saw them grinding ass-up, high on the dance floor to Franz Ferdinand at whatever stupid party we were last at. Al, who grew up going to recitals, as his mother was a concert violist, was disconcerted by the amount of nipple-bearing for such an event. Incongruent or strangely sacriledge?
I was not nearly as disconcerted by fuck-me outfits on the piano bench as I was by the 19-year-old boy next to me who had a heart and banner tattoo with the word "MORRISSEY" in it. Loving the Smiths is one thing, but loving Morrissey is another thing entirely.Posted by Jessica at August 11, 2004 11:18 PM | TrackBack