We're all familiar with Tom Cruise's famous line from the movie Jerry Maguire: "You complete me." I remember watching, sighing, then thinking, "Wait a second! I don't need some dude to complete me. I AM complete! No lame-ass guy is gonna..." Blah, blah, blah. I was so full of shit. Not that I disagree with what I was trying to say. I still hold that sentiment to be true. Oh, okay, I'll say it. I was being a hypocrite.
I have always loved musicians; throughout my twenties, into my thirties and, well, now. I still love them. If they can sing, so much the better. I don't play a single instrument and when I sing, most people ask me not to. As far back as my early childhood I have fantasized that this was not the case. (Insert overly dramatic sigh here) I love how they can pick up an instrument and create something beautiful that didn't exist before. I imagine it's akin to the feeling I get when I sit down to write and the words flow out of me seemingly of their own volition. Sure, sometimes my rock-n-roll bad boys played covers of other musician's work, but their interpretation of those songs didn't and couldn't exist without them. Art is like that. It's personal. I prefer my friend Sergio's rendition of KISS's "Hard Luck Woman" over the original. His wife Tammie is a good friend of mine and I have to say, I'm always a little jealous of her when I hear him play. Not that I want Sergio in THAT way. I am just in love with the idea of having that kind of talent around the house every day.
My last boyfriend was a math professor. Yeah, I know. Yawn. But here's what I loved about that: I am a mathematical moron. I need pen and paper to add simple two digit numbers together. That's not to say I don't appreciate math. It's everywhere. In finances, nature, design and, yes, music. I do understand that through math, one can get a far greater understanding of the world we live in. Really, I get it. There was something about watching him have such command over a subject so mysterious to me that made me swoon a little. Smart is sexy.The fact that I needed much tutoring to pass his beginning algebra class (yeah, he was my professor, SHUT UP!) with a C did little to dissuade me.
Not long ago I decided to attend pastry school. I picked a school and started the application process. Part of that process involved sitting in on a class taught by a master pastry chef. The chef was HOT! He spoke with a French accent and, c'mon, who doesn't love a man with a French accent? I watched mesmerized as he deftly folded butter into dough for croissants. Here was a man who sounded sexy, and not only knew what a zabaglione was, he could whip one up blindfolded.
It didn't work out with any of these men. The musicians (Yeah, there were several. Cut me some slack, I was young.) all seemed to prefer women who could make their own music. Or sometimes they just preferred other women...lot's of them. The math professor seemed to prefer someone of his own cerebral caliber. Sometimes it got demeaning. "Look Janina, even YOU can understand this..." Pphhfftt. Whatever. And what of Chef Ooh-La-La? Married. Bummer. It seems they weren't looking to complete anyone. They wanted someone to compliment them. Hmph. Imagine that.
I haven't given up. I still want a man to serenade me, but I'll have to keep my finger on the pulse of what's happening in the musical world if I want us to connect on that level. I'll learn what I need from professors and master chefs then move on. Or I can still dream, and hope that I find a baking musician who can calculate the tip in his head. Anyone know where I can find him?
Happy Fall? - Well not quite... at least not in Los Angeles. We are expecting 97 this Friday and Saturday. My favorite boots are still waiting to be worn! Will I get t...
1 month ago