so i had a birthday.
last year, i made everyone come to my birthday as me. didn't have to dress
up or nothing, could be conceptual. like, enter ranting-and-raving. much
hilarity ensued. especially when friendamine came dragging a plywood
dog-on-wheels. or lajos the hungarian tastefully garbed in draperies and
flowing locks.
well (oh you're all dying to know, i know) this year, thematically
speaking, it was hungarianness. (here, i said to room-mate lora, don't get
neurotic, just tie this tourist purchase embroidered tablecloth around your
neck, it'll do, really). myself, i doffed a lovely blackvelvet number. i am
going as the evil magyar that that mistakes blood for wine, i said.
i had talked my favorite tiny restaurant... hungarian but with culturally
confused chinese cook... into opening afterhours for us. and hired a
hungarian gypsy band... well, two of them turned out to speak nothing but
slovakian so not even the other bandmembers could communicate with them...
to play. my 21 anglo and 1 japanese friends were suitably entranced. the
band was happy cause they could smoke and drink along with us. and because
my friends really listened. my friends were happy too. a gypsy band. tres
exotique.
so that's what happened. we ate a lot. we drank wine a lot. i sang a my
dead father's favorite tune with the band. after which they wanted to have
me as their singer. to play at hungarian festivities or something. cause as
they said, i had a greasy voice. huh? i said, what the hell. a greasy
voice, explained the cimbalom player, means that you got the feel. ah. i
said. yah. the feel. cause i do got the feel, i know.
so now i am kinda tempted to play again. not for hungarian festivities
though, ick. but maybe bring this band of middle aged gypsy men into my
world a little. the feel, ya know. despair.
-e
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