Torturing Kris
My favorite band is coming to town in mid August. I plan on taking Kris to not one, but two shows. One in DC and the other in NYC. I don't know if she realizes this, but that is my plan. And, knowing Kris, she will understand and will almost be happy to go.
Sporting events, music, museums, movies, plays. Whatever. She's always in. That means I get to make a lot of our entertainment decisions. And let me tell you, not all of them wise. I'd like to express my appreciation at the endless sacrifices K has made for the sake of my perpetual curiousity.
We've caught cult movies in NYC's finest "art houses," which really means "dungeon with projector." No plush stadium steating at these joints, just interrogation chairs arranged around a recoiling projection screen.
We saw plays in basements with no air conditioning, which usually gave the production an Abu Garib-like charm. We've seen music standing behind concrete support columns, or sitting on vomit-stained floors. And she's been there with me the entire time. For better, or for worse. Enduring the conditions. Soldiering on.
I must asterisk this, there was one time she actually asked to leave. We were seeing one of my current favorite performers, Sufjan Stevens, at the Mercury Lounge. Another unairconditioned beauty in SoHo. We walked into a packed house. Microwave-like temperatures. All 300 people gasping for the same 4 molecules of oxygen. We lasted 5 songs. Kris apologetically asked to go. She was 8 months pregnant at the time. I gallantly led her out.
After all, sacrifice is a two-way street.
GM
Sporting events, music, museums, movies, plays. Whatever. She's always in. That means I get to make a lot of our entertainment decisions. And let me tell you, not all of them wise. I'd like to express my appreciation at the endless sacrifices K has made for the sake of my perpetual curiousity.
We've caught cult movies in NYC's finest "art houses," which really means "dungeon with projector." No plush stadium steating at these joints, just interrogation chairs arranged around a recoiling projection screen.
We saw plays in basements with no air conditioning, which usually gave the production an Abu Garib-like charm. We've seen music standing behind concrete support columns, or sitting on vomit-stained floors. And she's been there with me the entire time. For better, or for worse. Enduring the conditions. Soldiering on.
I must asterisk this, there was one time she actually asked to leave. We were seeing one of my current favorite performers, Sufjan Stevens, at the Mercury Lounge. Another unairconditioned beauty in SoHo. We walked into a packed house. Microwave-like temperatures. All 300 people gasping for the same 4 molecules of oxygen. We lasted 5 songs. Kris apologetically asked to go. She was 8 months pregnant at the time. I gallantly led her out.
After all, sacrifice is a two-way street.
GM
posted by Greg Monaco at 6:47 AM
1 Comments:
You forgot to mention the King of Funk (he wore a diaper- nothing else) and the woman at the Knitting Factory that played piano with her elbows.
Thanks for the kudos.
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