Friends in the Northeast: I miss you guys.

An Ode to Some Friends and Cousins in the Northeast

There was something awfully magical, exhilarating, and bittersweet about this past visit up to my beloved Northeast. In stating the obvious sentiments, of course, the atmosphere of intellectualism and street-smarts of the people of New York and Boston are always impressive, stimulating and wonderful to be around. I’m actually just talking about my friends. Whom I all miss a whole lot. And right now, friends I’m missing even more with a strange urgency that I can’t place. I really am not going to take up your time with a long-winded note boring you with the day-to-day adventures I had. That, I can just as well easily just tell you about on the phone, on Facebook, texts and e-mail.

I realized more than ever how much I love my friends and select supportive members of my family. I used to take each and every one of them for granted just because at times I liked to justify a martyr complex of that I’ve had since I was a kid. I’m Filipino-what do you expect? Also, having the most dramatic Lola—the ultimate Diva of my life (though Bette and Meryl come as a close second or third) around, she did inspire me unwittingly into becoming somewhat of the drama queen that she is. But unlike her, I’d like to think I don’t take anyone for granted.

I got to spend time in Boston this weekend, for her birthday, with the amazing Pampi and her soulmate Sandeep. I fell in love with these two, years ago. And my feelings and kinship for Pampi (Sandeep, sorry, you’re not a girlfriend, haha) have gotten stronger over the last four years—past four years I spent living in the Northeast, New York in particular. I realized more than ever having her around means happiness mixed with a zaniness that cannot be defined. It cannot be stopped. You feel nothing but joy around Pampi and her crazy cast of friends—Armanda especially.

Two friends I met in the last two years, Melissa and Chris accompanied me for the ride to Bean-Town. Chris was obsessed with going to the JFK Library. So in that I was able to get him to come along. After all, I had hoped Pampi had seduced him with her craziness only three weeks ago when she had accompanied me to my mother’s 20^th death anniversary. In the course of the trip, I felt really close to Melissa and Chris. I always had. Melissa and I became friends while studying Education at Hofstra, finishing up our Masters degrees. She’s always had a quiet and adorable way about her. She’s got a big toothy grin. And boy, did she grin a lot during this trip: At the cold, cold beach…at Pampi’s party, blowing up an air mattress so that she could rest for a bit….

And all of this felt as if it were a scene of something I wasn’t supposed to be a part of. It felt surreal—the joy of being with friends. I’ve always been told that friends didn’t matter by crazy members of my family. That they were individuals to be eventually discarded. They didn’t stick around. Sure there’s some truth to that. But the joy you feel when you’re with them is what matters most. At the moment.

Chris I met a year ago, being nutty at the park. I’ve always had a habit of strangers at the park. I don’t understand it.I have no idea how he’s become someone I enjoy talking to, or having around for company, for meals, for intellectual discussions about movies and certain books. He’s certainly a friend I do lack where I currently live. Not bashing South Floridians. But at least—he does read somewhat. And always appreciates good food. As well as going along for the ride with a laid-backness that my sister found really endearing when he had come to visit a few weeks ago.

Pampi Das, and Eric

Then there’s Babbie Eric. You lent me your house to stay in. To live out days of imagined spinsterhood (but not really). I really wished you had been around to laugh with. And to be kooky with. Eric usually stands there, shakes his head, and scratches my ears because he thinks I behave like a puppy. Which at times I’ve come to believe, (haha). But he accepts me for being the hyperactive, manic individual I’m coming quite close to embracing more and more. A lot more than I used to, a lot more now because of people like him, Pampi, Melissa and Chris. People who just stand there shaking their heads. Maybe grinning and groaning in exasperation. I have no idea.

Last but not least—Cousins Anne-Dee and Michelle always make me smile. I always have a good time with you. Michelle whenever she visits from Denver, and whenever Anne-Dee has time to take pictures and have coffee and sweets. They remind me that my mother’s still around and wants things to be good and positive always. Or at least I like to fantasize that’s the case.

Michelle Laughing

But it’s because of them why I miss my beloved New York and Northeast so badly. People come and go. But Lola—you’re wrong. I can’t take them for granted. They aren’t disposable. The yummy and delicious foods, Broadway shows, the bus rides, the parties—are all a part of it. But it’s because of them mostly.

Anne-Dee (below)

A "Follies" Assessment at the Kennedy Center.

Follies at Kennedy Center. Music and Lyrics: Mr. Stephen Sondheim. Book by James Goldman. Starring Bernadette Peters, Jan Maxwell, Ron Raines, Danny Burstein, Linda Lavin, and Elaine Paige.

Well folks, I finally saw the holy grail of Sondheim musicals: The brilliant, unnerving and uneven Follies at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. Starring my favorite Broadway diva Bernadette Peters; supported by Broadway veterans Jan Maxwell, Ron Raines, Danny Burstein, Elaine Paige, and Linda Lavin, it probably is the ALMOST truly satisfying musical theatergoing I’ve ever experienced. And don’t get me started that on the afternoon I decided to see the show down in Washington DC (an 8-hour round trip bus ride), I find out on the grapevine from a rabid Bernadette Peters and Sondheim fan that Playbill.com announced that Follies will be transferring into a Broadway run!

Follies’ book and script has always been plagued with problems, from its pacing and abstract vision of two couples’ mental breakdown and marital collapse juxtaposed with the demolition of the legendary theatre of where they had once performed thirty years earlier.

Set in 1971, the now married former show-biz couples, Buddy and Sally (Danny Burstein and Bernadette Peters) and Phyllis and Ben (Jan Maxwell and Ron Raines) all meet together and their respective former co-stars at the soon to be demolished Weissman Follies Theater in New York. The theater is being demolished in favor of a parking lot for one last show together. The last hurrah, the last performance of where they’ll all see one another together performing.

Sally once had an affair with Phyllis’s husband Ben; and Ben coldly ignores Phyllis, who is begging to be appreciated; while Sally ignores Buddy, who is a hapless joe very much in love with his depressive and manic depressive wife.

Perfect ingredients for a musical, right? No, more like a couple’s psyche and breakdown of a marriage.The first act is well acted and choreographed for the most part. There is a rousing tap-number led by Terri White called “Who’s That Woman?” where the older ladies’ younger selves appear as ghosts and the ghosts and the women all dance together for a last hurrah.

Linda Lavin makes a five minute appearance singing the standard “Broadway Baby” then disappears for the rest of the afternoon, not coming back out till the finale.

Bernadette Peters and Ron Raines sing the heartbreaking duets “Too Many Mornings” and “Don’t Look At Me” with devastating clarity.

Clad in a red cocktail dress that suggests her plan is to seduce, Ms. Peters quietly sings a song of self-delusion (“In Buddy’s Eyes”) trying to tell herself that she married her husband for love, but its Ben she still has eyes for.

But Act I has two bizarre and even slightly cringe-worthy moments that make you wish you had a spray or some kind of spatula to scrape off these parts that otherwise, hinder this musical from true greatness.

First is the casting of French cabaret singer Regine in the number “Ah, Paris”—a supposedly wistful tune about the joys of singing in the French follies. She sings like a foghorn, and is quite as terrible as Stockard Channing was in the last revival of Pal Joey.

The other moment is Elaine Paige’s delivery of the classic and supposed-to-be rousing 11 o’clock number, “I’m Still Here”. The British dame of theater has first of all, trouble acquitting herself to an American accent. Secondly, she flubs her lines by repeating herself a la Elaine Stritch. But Elaine Stritch she ain’t. She doesn’t even try to save herself by improvising her way through the difficult lyrics of the song. She sings the song that from what I saw, was in a conversational style that she uses to address her fans; then to a buildup of anger and jubilation that she experiences proudly after rattling off her accomplishments and witnessing much of the 20^th century’s historical achievements. Very strange interpretation indeed.

However, whatever shortcomings Act I had is truly made up in Act II’s stunning “Loveland” sequence. The rest of the characters are jettisoned to focus on the emotional and psychological breakdowns that Buddy, Sally, Phyllis and Ben all collectively share.

Danny Burstein is the revelation of the production. His “Buddy’s Blues”—a song of unrequited love for his unstable wife, disguised as a vaudeville number is number of desperation and at one last grasp to understand what went wrong in his marriage and in Sally’s betrayal of him for Ben. I found myself tearing up in parts that were supposed to create the illusion of joy amidst the heartbreak of infidelity.

Jan Maxwell is quite a dancer and sings well in her two numbers “Could I Leave You?” and “The Story of Lucy and Jessie” (a satire on her friendship/anger towards Sally and Ben’s infidelities) with zing. She’s also dressed to kill in both acts, in Act I, a cream colored chiffon gown; and in Act II, a devilishly red skirt with straps. She’s quite forceful, and an icy volcano waiting to erupt.

Lastly, I’ll save Bernadette last.

What else can I say?

She’s stunning. She’s sexy. She’s unhinged. She’s heartbreaking. Period. Her “Losing My Mind” is probably the most uninhibited, most heartrending version I’ve ever heard of this torch song. Her voice goes from vibrato, raspy growl, to lilting and fragile soprano within seconds of each other. She rips your heart out in one grab that you’re left crying your sockets out with pity that this woman has been so unhappy all her married life and you wonder what’s left for her, after the show is over.

Basically, Follies is the heartbreaking musical of how love went wrong for these four tragic characters. Phyllis and Ben may end up okay in the end. But for Buddy and Sally, the question is up in the air.

Follies—the verdict: Devastating. An afternoon of almost perfect theater.

Five Easy Pieces: A Short Analysis and Admiration

Five Easy Pieces- (1970) Jack Nicholson and Karen Black, Directed by Bob Rafelson.

I had no idea that the title meant five of Beethoven’s musical compositions. But this film is definitely a haunting and sensitive story of a man who had so much self-loathing that he has to keep escaping any situation he finds himself in. It’s also his own disillusionment about his upper-middle class and educated upbringing and ambivalence that made him bounce from job to job and to want to pretend that he’s a working-class joe-six pack like everyone else—making him more legit with his street-cred, rather than being seen as a failed classical pianist.

Nicholson who plays Robert Eroica Dupea, doesn’t mince words. He’s intolerant of dishonesty, sweet-things, and he’s angry at the world. He degrades his floozy waitress girlfriend, Rayette (played by a wonderfully pathetic and touching Karen Black) and mechanically sleeps with one hooker to the next. It all builds to the film’s unforgettable climax where he has to return home and face his dying father and his forgotten past, only to realize literally, as a pianist he’s failed, except for the five easy pieces, compositions that had been “easy” for him.

The film’s devastating and clinical ending of Robert leaving Rayette behind at a gas station and hitchhiking into a truck symbolizes a wistful and sad truthfulness that most of us can relate to: the desire to keep escaping lives we don’t wish to lead. Though he has decided to leave his pregnant girlfriend behind to abruptly start a new life, he admire and applaud him for having the guts to do so; even at the expense of those who truly cared for him. It’s also a metaphor for the brutal realities and violence of the 1960s seeping over into the beginning of the 1970s, the uncertainties of the Vietnam conflict, of escape is what everyone wished to enact. It’s truly an unforgettable film.

Western Influence

For some reason, I've been attracted to, more or less about reading books and watching films set in the Southwestern part of this great country we live in.


Take for example the novel Plainsong by Kent Haruf and the films Paris, Texas , Border Radio, and Two Lane Blacktop. All works concerning a central commonality of characters feeling displaced and disillusioned; perhaps of life, perhaps the lack of love, or the failure to connect with others. Or characters attracted to the possibilities of life and living it up in the rural wonderland of rugged landscapes, open roads, and hot deserts.

They all seem to share a sense of security, in spite of all the disillusionment, that everything is going to be okay; or that they'll find what they're looking for. Happiness isn't going to come easy, or it may never come at all. But there's a sense of peace that does make me jealous.

I went to New Mexico and Colorado two years ago during summer vacation from graduate school. I loved every minute of it. The dry heat. The sweeping landscapes of desert and turquoise. Canyons that were high, oh so very high that it made me dizzy with fear. But I loved the people, and the landscapes. A feeling of contentment and ruefulness that I can't quite describe.

Characters such as the two men of Two Lane Blacktop, played by musicians Dennis Wilson and James Taylor driving on the open air; or the woman searching for her missing husband in Border Radio; or that sad-sack, character Harry Dean Stanton played in Paris, Texas all try valiantly to find happiness and meaning through open landscapes and dingy motels alongside the hot desert sun. But somehow they all have a certain peacefulness that I've been fascinated with and attracted to for quite some time now. One day, and who knows. I'll be over there. Yes, I will. I just don't know how long it's going to be till when.

But for you, Chris.

“They’re writing songs of love, but not for me….”

Probably one of the best song lyrics I’ve ever heard. It’s a line from the Gershwin brothers’ tune “But Not for Me.” A lovely and tuneful song about unrequited love.

Or love remembered.

“I was a fool who thought that way”—love, I suppose. I do think that it’s not for me right now

Poor Chris. Chris H. Unrequited love for him. He fell hard for someone recently, and in so short of time, spectacularly, it ended for him all too quickly. The thought of it, oh the mere thought of it is so sad. So agonizing, so dramatic. So very Blanche DuBois…in her words, “all at once, and much too quickly.”

You can’t help who you fall for. I’ve been hearing that a long time. True, the possibility of it always has to be open. Or else you shut yourself out of future happiness. Keep going. Keep at it. It will happen. Love will happen. Fate will sneak right up at you, and you’ll smile.

Smile for me, Chris. Don’t smirk. I like your smile. Something shy about it. Sneaky perhaps? No wait, it’s secretive.

Part of your charm, is it not? I’d like to think so. Definitely but not for me, but for you.

Chin up.

SPRING 2011 THEATERGOING: NOTABLE EXPERIENCES

Lil' ol me in front of the Friedman Theatre, W. 47th Street, home to Good People on Broadway, starring Becky Ann Baker, Tate Donovan, Frances McDormand, and Estelle Parsons.

Good People, presented by the Manhattan Theater Club, written by Pulitzer-Prize winner David Lindsay-Abaire is truly the highlight of my Spring theatergoing.

Frances McDormand gives a towering performance as “Margie” a down-on her luck “Southie”, (working class) woman recently fired from her menial job working from a dollar store. Her friend and landlady (Becky Ann Baker and Estelle Parsons) tell her that perhaps a way to remedy her impoverished circumstances is to ask an old flame who has moved back into town, now a successful doctor (Tate Donovan).

Summoning her courage and thinking of her and her mentally challenged daughter Joyce’s circumstances (unseen), Margie makes her way to Dr. Mike’s office, and eventually his “comfortable” Chestnut Hill home where an inevitable confrontation ensues between Margie, Dr. Mike and his pretty literature professor wife, Kate.

The play explores class and racial divides, and also of what it means to truly identify with a culture or way of life growing up; and of the life choices we make in order to live. The play bristles with ambiguity and sadness, and Ms. McDormand truly delivers a transparent performance that simmers with anger and resignation at the blink of an eye.

Her truly human performance is a timely one in which we all can identify with: Someone who is unemployed, someone who has to have a purpose in life to keep going; and of someone who truly has to find a way to speak and act in order to survive. She’s human, and we truly remember what she goes through. On a final note, the play is also about the results of good luck and chance encounters in which play a role in what eventually defines our destiny.

Ms. McDormand’s performance ranks in probably what is my top three female play (not musical theater performances) in terms of the scope of the humanity they brought to their portrayals: Cate Blanchett’s Blanche from the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s revival of A Streetcar Named Desire; and of Vanessa Redgrave’s disturbing and heartbreaking Mary Tyrone in the 2003 Broadway revival of Long Day’s Journey Into Night.

BAM's 2009 Production of Streetcar- Cate Blanchett as Blanche DuBois

Vanessa Redgrave in Long Day's Journey Into Night

Anything Goes, starring Tony Winners Sutton Foster and Joel Grey, a revival presented by the Roundabout Theater Organization is truly a fun experience for all musical theater lovers. Right now it’s in preview performances and not set to open until April. But watching musical theater actors and dancers at the top of their game and having a fun romp with Cole Porter’s witty songs is what makes this revival worth revisiting since the 1989 Lincoln Center revival starring La Patti LuPone. Highlights include Laura Osnes and Colin Donnell’s romantic duet (“De-Lovely”), Mr. Grey and Ms. Foster’s hilarious duet, “Friendship” and a rock-rolling ensemble performance of “Blow Gabriel Blow”.

The show is a farcical one with a far-fetched plot: Ms. Foster plays Reno Sweeney, a singing evangelist who promotes behavior consisting of debauchery and decadence traveling aboard a ship via New York to London in the early 1930s. Among the passengers of the SS American include a lovesick tycoon’s assistant (Colin Donnell) in love with an engaged debutante Hope Harcourt (Laura Osnes) traveling with her stuffy and prim mother, (Arrested Development’s Jessica Walter); the lonely tycoon in love with the elder Mrs. Harcourt (Fosse and Sondheim veteran John McMartin), and Public Enemy #2 Snake Eyes (Mr. Grey) and his moll.

While the zaniness of the musical seem to run out at times, with the occasional middling direction; it is Ms. Foster’s tap dancing numbers that save the show and truly enthralls.

Her energy is boundless, especially in the expanded title number and its tap sequences that have been tailor-made for her amazing triple-threat abilities.

Starring: Sutton Foster, Joel Grey, John McMartin, Jessica Walter, Colin Donnell, Laura Osnes and directed by Kathleen Marshall.

Anything Goes Revival

Saturday, March 12, 2011, on that evening, my friend Sally Jane joins Eric and I at the Stephen Sondheim Theater on West 43rd street for the preview of the "Anything Goes" Broadway revival starring Tony winners Sutton Foster and Joel Grey. It also starred Colin Donnell, Laura Osnes, Jessica Walter from TV's Arrested Development, and Fosse and Sondheim veteran, John McMartin.

Overall, it was a delightful show, a fantastic Cole Porter revue. Ms. Foster's tap-dancing sequences were the highlight of the show. "Anything Goes" and "Blow, Gabriel, Blow" were charming and overwhelming to watch. Ms. Foster was marvel to watch. Her talent is superb and completely rocked my socks. Just you wait. Second Tony award for her. You just have to ask yourself: How does she make this look so easy?

Two Chrisses and Fluke Cake.

It was a chilly Saturday. I met up with Chris #1 in front of the library. He had an interesting and colorful sweater on. His curly hair was rumpled. He had a slight beard growing. Looking frazzled, a bit tortured; yet happy. He had gotten a handsome man in front of the library to pose for his photography.

He was beaming proudly on the steps of the Brooklyn library. We were both meeting another mutual friend, Chris #2 for brunch. Rosewater Restaurant in Park Slope. Delicious, yummy, decadent food. Did I mention that they have divine Bloody Marys and Sangrias? As well as their crunchy and mealy fluke cake?

No, no. I haven't mentioned that either.


Nice to know that Chris #2 is falling in love. Or interested in the idea of love.

Perhaps that Marvin Gaye album the last time I saw him, the one that had been playing in the background in the Ft. Greene eatery were at, had rubbed off on him. The power of music to be quite telepathic and karmic. "Falling in Love Again" from December to falling in love in March. A cold, blustery day.

Afterwards, a snack at Milk Bar. Croissant. Coffee. Chocolate chip cookie. Yummy. And very bad of me. Things I miss about Brooklyn. Snacking with friends you like. Friendly waitresses.

Then eventually, the day must end, right? We move on.

Film Review--Blue Valentine (2010)

I feel as if though Blue Valentine (2010) starring Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling, in a perfect world who absolutely deserve Best Actor and Actress Oscar nominations (I still feel Annette Bening is the best female performance of 2010 in The Kids Are All Right); has hit me hard with a sledgehammer.

Mr. Gosling's character, Dean is a man who is still trapped in the first stages of love. He's charming, goofy, and a dreamer. He's content with being a blue-collar man working odd jobs such as carpentry and painting houses and coming home to a wife, his kid and a cold beer. He obviously hasn't advanced very much, and it's driving his wife, Cindy (Michelle Williams) absolutely crazy. The film cuts back in forth during their six painful years of how and when they met; and how they are now unable to reconcile their differences.

In contrast to Dean, Cindy would like to advance. She's ambitious, intelligent, and is a hard-working nurse at a hospital. She becomes pregnant accidentally and is so emotionally drained of her life with Dean that she barely can contain her disgust for him. She's a wreck and we see that the love is gone on her part. In a sad memorable sequence, the two attempt to rekindle their romance in a cheesy motel with a futuristic theme. It's not about two people who hate one another; but it's about how do two people keep going when they're trapped in a rut? The exhaustion is so clear, that Cindy can't even feel anger anymore. Only bitter disappointment.

The heart of the film is about how there are types of love that can't be recaptured, but it is the memory of love that lingers loud and true. The film is about how and if two partners can't make it work and change for one another, and even stay somewhat on the same page, then what's the point?

Film Reviews= Mulholland Drive (2001)

I tend to be behind in watching films, especially films that are usually acclaimed, praised, or controversial. I was only 18 when David Lynch's Mulholland Drive had opened in theaters, and during that point in my life, I had not much interest in watching surrealistic films such as this one. I've gone on to see Blue Velvet, Eraserhead, Wild at Heart, Lost Highway, and even sat through half of Inland Empire. However, I've put off watching Mulholland Drive until now.

This film was surreal and dreamlike, fragmented and out of-sync; like many of my favorite Toni Morrison and Virginia Woolf novels, and that of some of Roberto Bolano's writing. I've always got to mention Mr. Bolano. Lynch's film is intensely lush, gorgeous, mysterious, gritty and sultry at the same time. It's definitely a homage to that famous film, Sunset Blvd (1950) the gold standard of how Hollywood tends to discard talent with its fickle mindset. Think of Naomi Watts' dual roles as Gloria Swanson's Norma Desmond having parallel realities (and think of Norma never making it big!) It's also an indictment of the Hollywood machine---who has the tendency to destroy innocence, the tendency to engulf is in its seductive glamour; and of how we use Hollywood as an alternate reality from our own damaged selves. It's a mindblowing film.

Poetry--Idea.

You feel. You Want. You’re Not.

There are those nights you can’t sleep or keep still. You’re not bored, but you’re anxious. You want to keep reading. Keep watching those old movies. Keep your brain working and your mind and heart pulsing. But for what? You say to yourself, keep my mind off of this. Keep off. Keep out.

You feel like you’re falling in love again. But with who? Heart flutters. Heart comes rolling down on your sleeve. On your sleeve it hangs. Don’t crush it. It’s already slightly broken. You want to sing. Sing what? Oh, it’s blue. Just blue tonight. Nothing but the blues of it all. The idea.

Idea

A poetry piece (see below)

Scene from In a Lonely Place (1950) Directed by Nicholas Ray. Starring Humphrey Bogart and Gloria Grahame. It looks as if his embrace is a very bad idea...

Idea

I’d like to say—

Well…

I have no idea

Except that I’d like to know

If…

You were doing well? If you are doing well. Okay.

That would be fine with me…

Just if you told me you were doing well. Okay.

It seems as if we stood and talked like this before

To quote Mr. Lorenz and Mr. Hart

(Has anyone ever heard of the song “Where or When” before?)

Such a lovely phrase, “stood and talked like this before”…

What was before, I wonder?

Before, before what?

You, I suppose. You and all the rest of it.

Heart on my sleeve.

I have no idea, except

I do know…

And do have an idea…..

Marvin Gaye's Falling In Love Again. Perfect.

Mr. Bolano, I love you. Rest in Unruly Peace....

On Friday, I had an epiphany in Brooklyn.

This so called epiphany?

I believe in love. Quite capable of it. And in fact, really believe that it exists. For everyone else. Not me though. How did this happen?

Friday night, I met up with two old NY friends. One owns a bookstore in which actually had novels by Roberto Bolano constantly selling out. I had always returned time and time again to this bookstore looking for books by him. Friday had been my lucky night. A copy of Bolano's The Insufferable Gaucho was there. Hardcover, shiny, and sleek. My first friend, the bookstore owner met up with me at a local coffee shop in Vanderbilt Avenue. I had tea. He had coffee I believe. Love definitely hadn't been kind to my friend this past year. It's too bad. He deserves to be loved. Sweet man. A kind heart.

Then my other friend came in. We left the bookstore owner in front of his shop. I then quickly found my Bolano. The gaucho was waiting for me.

My other friend wanted to buy a bottle of wine. We took it and walked on towards Ft. Greene to an African restaurant called Abistro on Carlton Ave. I remembered going there a lot when I lived in Brooklyn. I miss Ft. Greene. I miss NYC. Period. Except for the awful walking in the slushy snow.

Remember, we just had a blizzard.

Abistro Restaurant, Carlton Ave, Ft. Greene, Brooklyn.

Sitting down to a dinner of Senegalese Fried Chicken, Lamb Shanks with Curry, and Spicy fried plantains the two of us discussed our current love lives, crazy people that we liked. Prospective loves. Exchanging and glancing of one another's odd text messages of friends looking for love, and seeking for companionship. The restaurant itself was small, cozy, cramped. Quintessential Brooklyn neighborhood hangout. I always tend to pay attention to what's playing in the background. Background music always intrigued me. What did I hear?

Marvin Gaye. His album of Love Songs and Bedroom Ballads.

But what did I actually hear?

It was "Falling In Love Again" from his Here My Dear record circa 1978.

Groovy. Sad. I had no idea that this song would set me off into a mixture of emotions ranging from resignation, to despair, to happiness, and to acceptance. I rarely feel these emotions when listening to love songs. They're cliched and hackneyed to death. But this one...Mr. Marvin's wistful and muddled declaration of finding love, I felt was the perfect song to begin 2011. I had to find it on YouTube for all you to see. Right now, as I type this, I'd like to say that I believe in love. But right now, it's not for me. Although, I'm glad my friend took me to Abistro. It led me to this wonderful song. My new earworm.

An excerpt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYh7_O9rKkg

Now I'm falling in love again...
All over.
I've found somebody
She says she loves me....
Love, Don't Torture Me...