Musical Nostalgia

I had a bout of musical nostalgia this afternoon as I was listening to Rufus Wainwright and compiling a powerpoint presentation for work. Two years ago, I remember the CD's of this self-styled (and modish) modern-day troubador. He was (and, I presume, continues to be) an "inside" kind of star with celebrities and hipsters (they like what is "hot" before us mortals do) for classical and dramatically-infused pop melodies. Those style-makers viewed him as "getting" pop like not many other contemporaries did; I just happened to like the songs, even if some were adopted as funkified dance anthems in gay clubs (convenient that Rufus is also gay, so he did not mind the mixing). Anyhow, I remember Rufus for his musical companionship in some turbulent NYC days, dealing as he did in his album "Want One" with regrettably lost loves and solemnness for the life he led on the road; I felt the same in those days as a consultant traversing the US between NYC and San Francisco. He also sang with aching beauty for what life could be and what life entailed over the horizon; I had the same pangs and hoped for the best even through the ambiguities and eccentric notions of fate and opportunity.

Now, I am on the other side, past days wrapping up in Manhattan, galloping through the Swiss Alps to expand the mind, and deposited on the other side of those incredible studies with much less turbulence in the Washington DC area. Still, there is Rufus on my hard drive, and he comforts me with words and melodies that meant so much in those days. Emerging from my musical nostalgia, I hope that he has prospered and found the same joys as I have since our shared experiences together in the Big Apple.

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Everyday Love Poem to my Wife

Over a year of marriage carries Happiness, love, and sometimes cranberries But eventually the pace slows down, Work intrudes, some days a frown And suddenly the world has changed. What we must do is simply rearrange The days so that other things fit neatly In their own places, and move on sweetly To the beauties of the everyday together. Because there is love everywhere, wherever You shall be - and perhaps also Rosie - This is a good thing naturally, So good to state it thus and remember That only frigid mornings in November Can keep us apart, but only so long As the work day lasts because so strong Is our pact that I worry not a wink - Your loveliness is worth so much, I think.

Sitting in a NYC Taxicab

I was whirring up Park Avenue for a meeting at the Waldorf Astoria (oh, how posh!) when I pulled out my cameraphone to snap a picture uniquely indicative of New York City. Something representative without being overdone (easier said that done!). Something relatable to almost anyone that has been to this wonderful city. Something easy to recognize. Something difficult to forget. Sitting in a NYC taxicab, it was apparent where the shutter would point itself. Of all the places that I have been in Manhattan through the years, none have been so welcoming and iconic as the backseat of those yellow beacons of light after a bender of a night. An United Nations of drivers mans these vehicles, representative of the dream that the United States has often been for the fortunate, displaced, and ambitious - not that disillusionment did not follow when finding the cab as an occupation hopeful for a better future. Regardless, the taxicab is often friend, sometimes foe - and sometimes the instigator of...

Muggles...

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