Two different people gave me crap about my monosyllabic responses to their e-mails today, but I more than made up for my earlier brevity with an evening of non-stop conversation. I went to the art opening at The Belvidere tonight to see "Mynamar Impressions," an exhibit of the photographs of Khanh Duong. It was a good-sized show and various photographs grabbed me for different reasons; some clearly hinted at a back story, some were visually arresting for their line or color and some were absolutely haunting in their imagery.
I met the artist, a charming and driven immigrant from VietNam, who dual-majored in chemistry and photography. I'd like to say I was once that ambitious, but that would be a lie. It was fascinating to hear Khanh talk about trying to finally enjoy his life more and work less; he's already enlisted me to send him info about upcoming music shows so that he can, as he said, "get back in the loop." I'm more than happy to be a cheerleader for the local music scene.
Part of our conversation included a new-to-me neighbor of mine, who lives literally around the corner, once again proving just how small this town is. We had a spirited discussion of our top ten albums of all time, involving several other nearby bar sitters. Nothing on their lists would be on mine: Exile on Main Street,10, Nevermind, London Calling, Siamese Dream, Sgt. Pepper (please note that everyone in this discussion appeared to be under 35. I want to understand, but I don't.) And I could never come up with such a list on the spot. That kind of major topic would require time and thought before I would venture a list.
After a couple of Khanh's friends left, he told me that they were enamoured of my tights and boots, but didn't have the nerve to tell me so and that was nice. I was introduced to another of his friends, who teaches motorcycle skills to the Army (huh?) and asked what I was doing tomorrow. I gave him the full run-down of my afternoon and tenative early evening plans so as to effectively squelch that. Maybe I should just wear a button that says "I don't date."
Tonight's soup was Wild Mushroom with Brie and it was an earthy, rich taste delight. I convinced no less than four other people (including the artist) to try it and they all loved it as much as I did; I told the bartender that I should get a commission for my persuasive skills. I followed that with a dessert big enough for two people and somehow ate it all.
Which isn't nearly as important as how verbose I was all evening; nary a monosyllabic utterance crossed my lips. Everyone there was probably wondering if I'd ever shut up. It's really all about having someone you want to talk to, though. That seems to be what I'm lacking these days.