One month to go until his first birthday cake. Boy does time fly!
(posting this from my Blackberry, but the sales guy was very understanding about its presence in here)
Had a wonderful time at the legendary Blue Note jazz club on Saturday night. The placed was packed full and everyone could hardly wait for the band to come on the stage.
For the singer, it was a slow start. I kept thinking to myself (ok, may have commented on it out loud as well) how her voice was beautiful, the notes were all right, but there was no heart and soul in it. The piano melted my heart and the drummer made many of us tap our fingers and feet while shaking our heads rhythmically in an almost bird-like fashion. Cool.
The singer was Italian and I felt she wasn’t being sincere for the lack of a better description. I did not believe the stories she was telling and felt that these were not the words she would have used on her own. All correct, all beautiful, but empty. Until she sang in Italian. O dio mio, l’estate. She sang of summer love, its end, of snowflakes coming to soothe the pain, and I believed her. She touched my heart and gave me goose bumps. Yeah!
Even the best imitator can only hope to achieve the level of the artist they are trying to copy. But greatness comes from originality.
Just be yourself.
I’ve been here a week now and am finally getting a hang of Manhattan’s layout. Have walked around the better part of it, jogged in Central Park, discovered eggs florentine as breakfast that’ll keep you going till dinner, did some shopping, went to a live taping of a Comedy Central TV show production, attended the Bloomberg Media Summit in wonderful company where I learned quite a bit, I visited a few museums, but not enough, was surprised at how much smaller Wall Street is than I’d imagined, I admired the city from the Top of the Rock and the Brooklyn Bridge in glorious sunshine and walked in rain and wind that soaked my feet and legs. And the Broadway shows. Oh wow. Only managed to see three, each very different yet each pure joy.
The people have been wonderful. The Canadian who sat next to me in theater, the Bangladeshi lady serving breakfast, the elderly mechanical-engineer from Odessa who takes up any menial job that pays, the French retired banker who volunteers as a guide in the Carnegie Hall, the Romanian girl who sold me a handbag I probably couldn’t have lived without and absolutely had to come with a matching wallet, the Chinese in Chinatown who quoted facts on Yugoslavia for me. And yes, all the US-born Americans as well. Like the super-nice teacher working her second job at a store that’s closing down.
I feel good here. I really do.