November 30, 2009

Eight months ago, a mere month after my break-up with Ben, I prepared for a second round. Georgi, who had turned my life upside down, was acting smart. He knew my emotional state all too well. He'd witnessed the previous two months which lead my sorrow to physical ill to life-altering decisions. I stood there, in April, resolute in my love for him and its importance and nothing could make me not fight for it. He was resisting. Part of it was the newness of love. And the other part was the ridiculousness of the situation. I was heartbroken, racing up and down an emotional roller-coaster, and still sleeping in bed with my ex. Why wouldn't he run?

And I braced myself for what came next. I knew it could go either way. He could have walked away, promising to return to our affair once dust settled. And he could have stayed, what I lobbied for desperately. But he had a choice. And in his choice the path of my life was wound around. And I would be fine either way. But I knew my heart could end broken, twice, in as many months.

I rely upon tricks and rituals from my youth. And so I made Georgi a cd. On it I layered tracks spelling out my emotions. I let songwriters and vocalists translate my thoughts. He listened to it and sent me an email. "I hope the next cd you make me is happier," or something like that, he said.

On that cd was a song by Royksopp called "You Don't Have a Clue." It features the vocals of Anneli Drecker and she sings "But you don't have a clue, this party hasn't ended yet. Not for me and you, now you're just pretending." As keyboard blips and piano keys pulse around her ethereal vocals she sings a song brazen and forthright. She told her lover that she knew, better than he, what he was thinking. And I knew better than Georgi. What we had was the stuff songs are written about.

So it seemed appropriate that Drecker put on a fantastic show last Monday at Webster Hall with Royksopp. We were guests of Adam Norbury and Marty Chavez. The band was incredible. They took electronic music and made it rock and roll. They jumped and drummed and banged and recreated their songs. They did not simply press play. And Drecker, who stood in for Robyn and The Knife's Karin Dreijer Andersson on the band's biggest hits, which is no small feat, was magical. She captured those bigger pop star's inflections perfectly and gave a dramatic, nuanced performance. Georgi and I kissed. Smiled. Danced. Jumped. This party hadn't ended.

And we walked home with Adam (Marty had to rise too early) and we ate Mexican on the street and I felt young and alive. Ears ringing and lips stretched.

At the Royksopp show I told Marty we were going to DC the day after Thanksgiving. This prompted him to mention his friend Patrick Menasco, who has a house there. Patrick runs in similar circles yet we'd never met. And the night before Thanksgiving that changed. I met him as we dined at Joe and John's house. We had lasagna and delicious wine and the world got a little closer and smaller. And on Thanksgiving Georgi and I cycled and cooked and along with Tanner and Alireza we ventured back to Joe and John's. Patrick was there again with his friend Wes. The food and company were delicious. Turkey. Pancetta and Brussels spouts. Mashed potatoes with blue cheese and garlic. Yams. Beets. Fennel. Fresh cranberry. Cauliflower. Olives. Cheeses. Cornichons. Cured meats. Hummus. Crusty bread. Delicious wines. Pumpkin and Apple pie. More food than the ten of us could have even dented. Not even if we'd starved ourselves for days. And we played parlor games and crashed before midnight.

The next day Joe, John, Georgi and I went to DC. Patrick joined us and at dinner we ate with my mother at Dito's restaurant. My mom looked pretty, her hair curly and and she was wearing lipstick. I made Georgi sing the song he's made in her honor, sung to the theme of the Wizard of Oz. He was "Off to see the mother, the greatest mother in law." We kissed her goodbye and joined Rahnee and the twins, Jon and Lucas. We danced. Laughed. Reminisced.

And again Georgi and I crashed. We woke and shared carrot soup and crusty baguettes and tapenade and ham and then walked the Holocaust museum. It was powerful and emotional and I often times trailed ahead of Georgi unable to continue reading about the horrors. It was a crisp, crystal clear day in the capitol. And then we were off. Joe, John, Patrick, Georgi and I. And a truck that hit an overpass closed the NJ Turnpike. And a drive which normally takes 4 hours ended up taking nearly 8. And though I had seen these guys for 4 straight days, and though tempers flared a bit in the car due to the situation, we made it back to Manhattan alive, better friends, and truly thankful.

And now a week from that Royksopp concert I sit in bed alone with my laptop after 10PM. I key these words. And I listen to another Royksopp song, this one sung by Robyn. It is a song of longing. About a lover gone, to work, and the sorrow that consumes her when he's not there. She goes mental every time he goes to work. She calls him up and wants to know when he's coming home. She's so alone. And when Georgi's not here, I am too.

The song is an answer to Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence." It shimmers in a moody disco light. It is epic. And whether sung by Robyn or Ms. Drecker it's still the same. "Can't stand it when you go to work. You never seem to know when to stop. I never know when you'll return. I'm in love with a robot."

Just like the mix-tapes I made when I was thirteen, songs still sing my life. They provide the soundtrack. The yarn that holds my thoughts and emotions together, loosely knit, they're my family. My friends.

I am thankful for my family. My friends, new and old. My lover. And for Scandinavians with drum machines and other ones with unique, odd voices. They're all my loved ones.