Charmed

[Violet's tipsy disquisition last night on her parents reminded me of Sandra Bernhard's "My father's a proctologist, my mother's an abstract artist; that's how I view the world." V.'s mother's a Mill Valley anthropologist and gospel-choir director, the first white woman to be nominated for a Gospel Academy award; her father's an Upper West Side natural philosopher and author who conceived and performed (or performs) a musical show based on Charles Darwin. That's how V. views the world.]

[I bring this up because she, my parents, and I watched the Andrea Marcovicci "Love Songs of World War II" show last night here at the FNC, and were unabashedly sentimental in the face of such fare as "The White Cliffs of Dover," "Moonlight Serenade," "As Time Goes By," etc. Talk afterwards circulated around music from Mozart to house, but centered on the show (which I must admit, after early skepticism of A.M.'s warble, to having enjoyed) and on other singalongable genres.]

[Violet was in full flow thanks to two margaritas after having only eaten chocolate chip cookies and cocktail garnish all day. (That last was brought, neatly toothpicked, to our table by Arthur during the show.) After V.'s triumphant Plush Room debut last week in the late-night revue, there was nothing she didn't know and wasn't eager to share about show business. I think my parents are more willing than not to sponsor our sexless marriage any time I'm willing to sign on the dotted line. What a charmer she is.]

[Instead, I look forward to meeting another charmer tomorrow. Too early for details, but the prospect beats the prospect of yet another smelly, crowded Dore Alley Fair.]

Previously Next