| JOHNKIPS READ THIS! |
[Nov. 11th, 2005|01:48 pm] |
I want a tall, handsome baritone with gentle hands and a commanding voice and stage presence. He must be well versed in the art-songs of Ned Rorem and like to wear merino sweaters. He'll of course know how to make the perfect tom collins (not too much sour, please), stir a martini like no other, and rock my world in bed (and the in the shower, on the kitchen sink, the balcony, the floor, against the door, and between rehearsals of our ever so busy performance schedule--on top of the piano or perhaps on an empty stage ["The acoustics are amazing in here, honey]-).
When we go out on fridays to listen to the funkiest/deepest/slamminest house imaginable he knows all of my swingy arm movements (that i stole from Ariane and Mattie) and thusly knows exactly when to spin and when to duck. He'll open doors for me and place his hand on the small of my back when I enter ... he'll have his hanky ready when I need to blow snuff from my nose ... he'll have the dreamiest look in his eyes when he thinks of singing Schubert's "Die Winteriese" ... he'll hum me to sleep or rub my back ... he'll wake up early to make breakfast ... he'll flip the couch cushions after I spill red wine all over them (and he won't be cross even though he personally picked the fabric himself and probably upholstered it by hand also) ...
We'll fly to see Rape of Lucretia at the met (did I mention he thinks Britten is a hack, but loves to indulge his spikey british side now and again) ... no we'll live in Boston so we'll just take the train. He never yells at cabbies who shout at us for jay walking ... because he's gentle and classy like that. He has a burberry scarf that he absolutely adores (Which I gave to HIM for christmas) and he often straightens and fingers it whenever we walk past that shop on Newburry. He also has some Emerson musing to quote when we pass the Unitarian church across from the Public Gardens and he occasionally lapses into childish chasing of the ducks there too. He despises the swan boats but loves the lighting in early autumn ... in fact I caught him once there on lunch. i was walking about the commons--dreaming of a meditative soundscape for cello and male chorus--and I saw him crying while staring past the leaves and into the skyline ... he said he was listening to the Bach solo violin partitas when all his senses seemed to collapse inward at the great emotion of the music and the sun dappled grass. I kissed him on his cheek and we walked to a little cafe to talk about Kapelmeister Bach and his meditative solo string work.
when we're on holiday we like to workshop at all the pretentious conservatories. we think we might be able to really rescue classical music from snobbery if we get to the kids before the world at large jades them.
He likes to intone in his singing voice, "What's Beethoven's favorite fruit, my little Krissy Bear?"
"Ba-na-na-naaaaaaaaa." I reply and kiss his nose and he wraps that burberry scarf around my neck and draws me closer, opening his warm wool pea-coat he embraces me and we share a bit of warmth in the wet Bostonian Cold. "It's three, my beautiful song-bird ... black tea and chocolate muffins?" He nods and hums a bit then breaks into full song as we saunter hand in hand down mass-ave past Symphony Hall and down into the t-stop. He's singing something from Death Cab for Cuties "Photo Album" ... probably blacking out the friction ... I'm trying my best to give him a descant line of harmony but he keeps changing tempo in jest. We give up and laugh at the days we used to think music was the only thing we needed in life.
His brother's band comes over to practice in our garage and we all get schnockered off of guiness and scotch. We end up all taking up a part in the ensemble as we cover Patty Griffin, Broken Social Scene, Death Cab, Stars, Devendra Banhart and Cat Power tunes ... I remind him that tomorrow is christmas eve and that I despise him for the moment for waiting so long to make travel arrangements. But he's so excited about meeting my friends and family back "west" (as he says with all the air of a pioneer, romanticizing everything about all the dust and beautiful people waiting for me (and I for them ...)) that he doesn't mind my passive aggression. He ruffles my hair and, gives me a poke in the tummy and reminds me to breathe. He's taken care of all the worries of flight, he even charged the ipod and bought a headphone splitter so we can BOTH listen to Cabaret, Westside Story, and Into the Woods on the windy flight down the coast and across the south to the great south west...
*shakes head*
Oh I mean, I'd really like a floor lamp or two cause the lighting in my apt is atrocious. A harddrive would be nice and I'm never ever opposed to fluffy things like blankets, teddy bears, pillows and new towels of ridiculous color
ps. I HATE THE HOLIDAYS. *grump* |
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| Comments: |
Wow, by the sounds of it, i want a boy like that too! *cries* Beautiful. | |
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