The intended NTKOG: The kind of girl who comes across a street-side busker or jam session, and immediately jumps in as background singer, groupie and, if warranted, potential manager.
I am: the worst singer you’ve ever heard in your life, for starters, and generally irritated when wannabe musicians try to peddle their questionable craft on the street in an attempt to “bring joy” to the world.
I am not: a big fan of music, generally, unless long freeway drives or booze are involved in the mix. (Note the “or” — not an and/or situation. I may be daring, but I’m not a total suicide case.)
The Scene: After taking an impromptu 6-mile walk through Brookline and Brighton this afternoon, I came home for a hot soak. Afterwards, I threw on a highly disreputable outfit (pjs, braless, my Angry Lesbian jacket, etc.) and popped outside to pace while making a quick phone call.
Along the way, I passed the stoop of a nearby apartment building, where two youngish, cute guys sat on adjacent staircases, playing a gleeful duet of Sublime’s “Santaria.” Just the tune for a warm, summery dusk. For a moment I considered singing along, or dashing across the street to ask whether they took requests. But alas, one look down revealed that I was cutting a particularly hobo-ish swath, and, if their retinas didn’t spontaneously combust with the horror of it all, then at the very least I would feel far too awkward to talk.
Back to the apartment, and quickly, was the order of the day: I sprinted so fast that my damp hair was wind-dried by the time I crossed the threshold. I shimmied into the first passably summery outfit that came to hand, and was back jogging stoop-ward in less than three minutes, taking time only to curse with resignation my total loss for a game plan.
What went wrong? Heartbreak! Sometime during the course of my (seriously, three-minute!) quick-change act, apparently the boys packed up their six-strings and fled the scene. Alas and alack! A lack of proper planning on my part, that is.
Moral of the Story: Dude, okay, it’s one thing for a mere civilian to take the occasional casual stroll through the neighborhood, but while surging through life on a constant quest for adventure and spontaneity, you must always suit up. This once you have burned me, o! cruel sartorial fate, but in future, I will always be at the ready.