The Jean Genie Has Escaped Her Denim Lamp

Today's post draws inspiration from the lovely and talented Jillian Ports.

I still remember Jill trying in vain to teach me how to perfect a dance step in the wings of a production of "The Boyfriend" in which we played husband and wife. I could be miss-remembering some of this at this point, as it has been a really long time, but at one point I'm fairly certain I think she asked if I was going to take this seriously and I said that pathetically, I was trying as hard as I could. Needless to say, Broadway was never in my future.

Anyway Jill, a brilliant, honest, and relatable writer, recently penned a post found here: https://jawkwardprufrock.wordpress.com/2016/02/05/the-top-5-times-i-ruined-everything/

in which she describes how through the misdeeds of fate and self-admitted awkwardness she... mishandles... some flirting situations.

I admired her honesty and got a good laugh, so I figured what better day than Valentine's Day to recount some of my verbal misses with the fairer sex.  Before I get to that though, let me hit you with this Valentine's Day idea I had.

Feelings on the holiday aside, (you shouldn't pick one day of the year to show and tell the one you love that they're special, but it's equally weird that someone would try to villainize a holiday that's a nice sentiment even if it's corporate driven.) we all know that a popular selling item of this day are boxes of chocolate in the shape of hearts. I think it would be funny (and consequently sell) to have round boxes of chocolate that single people can give the couples that they hang out with. Round boxes of chocolate as a 'thank you' for letting them be a third wheel. Wheels are round. Get it? I'm not saying it would revolutionize Valentine's Day, but I'd have to imagine there is a market for that in today's world. Third Wheel Chocolates.

Anyway, back to the verbal misdeeds.

To be honest, I don't think if I were noting the times that I misplayed a flirting session, I could make it up to the count of five. PLEASE, before you roll your eyes at that let me say that I think if we made a list of times that I was exceptionally smooth in those situations, we'd have an equally short list. My point is, often when I find myself in those kinds of *ahem* encounters, I'm typically just talking to a girl as I would anybody else and I kind of don't realize we're flirting until after I have apparently flirted... I hope that makes sense.

That said, that's not to say that I've never stuck some degree of my foot in my mouth and I'm happy to recount these for you here. Now, just in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel obligated to let you know whether alcohol was a factor in any of these exchanges. To edify you accordingly and have some fun in the wake of digging up my embarrassment and impending doom, I will implement and introduce the following code phrase for when I had indeed a drinking prior to these exchanges: "The Jean Genie (Rest well, David Bowie) had escaped her denim lamp."

1. It was New Year's Eve of I believe 2011 and the Jean Genie had escaped her denim lamp. (Works, right?) My friends and I had all gone out in the city to club I believe simply called "The Piano Bar." This was the same year that some stranger named Dave and his girlfriend had all night dispute over who paid for a train ticket and a perferated ear drum. (Well covered in "Yesternow" if you're genuinely that curious.) Anyway, whilst in the Piano Bar, where there was no piano by the way, I met and was chatting with this girl and after speaking for a bit, we hit the dance floor. Things were going fine there (as if I had to clarify) and I asked her where she was headed after this bar, presumably with her friends etc. and she replied: "I'm not sure, I have no plans." I, in my infinite wisdom and fortunately temporary buzz said... and I quote: "That's what I like to hear."

Now, I know that some of you who know me well are finding a way in your head to give me the benefit of the doubt. Surely this wasn't said as uncomfortably as it comes across in type. After all, this is Tom/Poli we're talking about here. I am here to thank you for your optimism, but regretfully inform you that it came out JUST as creepy as it reads. As soon as it left my mouth I had my out personal "what the fuck was that?" moment. We kept dancing to finish out the song as a formality, but mutually excused ourselves pretty quickly afterward. I've spent the last five years trying to repress it from memory. Frankly, I'm sure the girl has, too.

2. No genies involved. At the risk of spoiling the ending, I will say that this one turned out okay, but I spent one of my favorite Halloweens of all time dressed as cowboy in a giant yellow cowboy hat. (Quick and easy costume. Plus, by total chance, Grebe was dressed as a cow! Needless to say we had to milk that coincidence for all it was worth.) We all went out in Queens and I met this lovely girl, Jolene, who was dressed as "Joan from Mad Men." With all due respect, I don't watch "Mad Men." Now, in the loudness and clamor of the bar, I got the names kind of backwards (it didn't help that they were so similar.) So I, frankly as I feel most guys would do said, "Okay, forget about the character name of Jolene, the girl I am getting to know is Joan." So we spent the whole night hanging out and whathaveyou and at the end of said night I said something akin to "Goodnight, Joan." She said that was the name of her character and I immediately felt like I was hit by I truck. I simply had not retained, nor cared to retain, the name of her character, which turned out to be her actual name. In a equal parts pathetic/admirable/effective effort to buy time, I tipped my comically-sized cowboy hat and called her ma'am while I racked my brain for a name that just wasn't coming. By the grace of a higher power "Jolene" came to me in a flash (thank you Ray Lamontagne) and Jolene was none the wiser. We spoke for a few weeks afterwards and I wish her well. She never knew just how close I came to ruining that.

3. Would be a lie to say the genie wasn't involved here, but I firmly believe that this would have happened anyway. Some random night in Manhattan, Sean Taylor led us to a bar that might as well have been a basement. To be clear, I don't frown on that. I adore a dive bar as much as one you have to dress up for, but when I say "basement" I am referring not to the quality of service, drinks, or people, but lighting. This place was dark enough to go spelunking in. Genuinely, I'm not sure if a bill wasn't paid, or what was going on, but I couldn't see a thing. Not one to call a game on account of darkness, I went in with my buds to maintain the momentum of the evening. While there, I got to know this girl whose name I admit I forget, but she was from Ohio, which we were able to speak about for awhile because my sister Noelle went to college in Athens. We spoke for a bit, largely platonically, and after the conversation ran it's course we, again, mutually went back to our respective friends with a fond goodbye. I spent a few minutes with my friends and then went back up to the bar for another sip of something. While there, waiting for the bartender, I introduced myself to this dude (again, my goals are just to be social, I never really harbor much more intentions than that) to my left and this girl to my right. I'm sure you saw where this was going, but "girl to my right" was "Ohio girl" and she... made that clear. Easily, one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I remember being so mortified that I over-reacted and bolted to Jay saying that we had to leave right away. After hearing the story, laughing at my expense, and assuring me that this too would pass, we wound up staying in the bar, while I stayed glued to the spot, for fear that history would repeat itself a third time. On the plus side, later on that night, we somehow got the whole bar to chant  "Roopak Sekhon" with us. Presumably because you couldn't see and everyone assumed it was their friend that wanted them to chant along. A very sweet cherry on a most bitter sundae.

4. During one of open mic's at Portside that while fun run far too late for someone with any sort of weekday responsibility, I meet this girl and chat with her for a while. Eventually, we get to the part where we ask each other "what do you do?" I'm paraphrasing here, but she lets me know that she is a sort of medical technician that injects people with some sort of dangerous in excess radioactive dye that allows doctors to see things better in x-rays. She says herself. "It's not exactly what I thought I'd be doing when I was in kindergarten, but it's where I'm at." (Paraphrasing there, too.) I then said, "I understand, when I was in second grade I said I wanted to be a songwriter, but injecting people with radioactive fluid was a really close second."

Now, to my credit, she did laugh pretty hard at that. The problem is, while she laughed PRETTY hard, I laughed REALLY hard. I laughed so hard at my own joke that I had to excuse myself, so as not to look like a total loon. I simply couldn't recover. Some hours later, I exchanged a decidedly pleasant goodbye with her, but the magic was gone.

On that note, happy Valentine's Day, friends.


Song of the Day: "Impossible Soul" -  Sufjan Stevens
Jazz Song of the Day: "Everybody's Jumpin' - Dave Brubeck

There Sure Are A Lot Of Bill Frisells Here Tonight

The calm before Super Bowl pageantry draws me to a quick post. While certainly not the motive for this piece, I can't jump into this word-wound wilderness without at least making note of an utterly pristine Wilco show that took place this past Friday at the beautiful (seriously, beautiful) Kings Theatre in Brooklyn, New York. The occasion marked my first time seeing the group since they opened for Neil Young with a searing "Sky Blue Sky" heavy set at the Garden many years ago. I think I've long since eclipsed the usefulness of the phrase, "best show I've ever seen," because frankly I've seen so many shows of so many genres, contexts, and even the people I've seen them with. It has become such an arbitrary statement, I can't in good conscience toss it out. With that said, they played an incredible, diverse set, capped with an acoustic encore. Always finding new ways to astound live and I defy you to find a band with a cleaner, yet oh-so-not-cookie-cutter, sound. "Via Chicago" and "Art of Almost" were highlights on top of highlights. I'll have another chance to see them this summer at Mountain Jam. Let me know if you want on the day-glo bus.

The show marked my first time seeing Steve of equal parts York and MP lore in many moons, but the second time in as many weeks that I saw Kevin Montgomery, as he also accompanied me in seeing Hive in Queens last weekend. Speaking of astounding sounds, the limits of avant-groove a pushed nicely by Hive. Incidentally, they're looking to change up their band name in preparation for their new album release. I'm pushing for the name "Indigenous 3." I'm on their mailing list. I'm optimistic. 

Anyway, just for a beat of context, jazz-guitarist Bill Frisell was supposed to open for Wilco, but was held up by weather in Quebec. Not one to let delayed travelers wait in peace, Steve, Kev, and I made it our own running gag, hence the title. 

I would say about a month ago, a friend brought to my attention via a mass shared social media post that there are libraries around the world in which you could "rent" people as human books and listen to their stories. I'm a sucker for oral history and my buddy noted that these libraries were riffing off an idea I've long held dear. 

While it never occurred to me to incorporate the formality of a library card, I've always been a real advocate for "storytelling nights" where people come together in a place and vibe similar to an open mic, but just kind of take all of the fanfare out of it and don't so much perform as they do just talk. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not critiquing the open mic scene. I've had great times and met incredible people at various open mics throughout my life. See my previous post actually. (I chuckled at that realization.), but open mics as a whole tend to be a group of people coming together and celebrating a talent that makes them unique. That's super special, super important, and my life wouldn't be the same without that outlet. With that said, whereas open mics focus on what makes people different, I think it would be so cool and invaluable to have a night and space that focuses on what makes people the same, or dare I say ordinary. There could be different topics every week, some would make you cry, others make you laugh, but always make you think. I believe a lot of people can stand to hear these stories. I think there are even more people that can benefit from telling their stories. 

A chance to bond in our very humanity. Hopefully this is a movement that picks up steam soon. 

Song of the Day: "Strung Out Again" Elliott Smith

Jazz Song of the Day: "Evidence" Thelonious Monk