Wagner’s Ring

Well, I finally did it: on Friday night I went to Tower Records and bought Karajan’s recording of the Ring Cycle. It was just time for it. I’d hung out with my college friends and gone to see The Overdevelopment of Scott, which turned out to be really strange. (Hanging out with my college friends reminded me that there are straight people in New York. Strangely, I’d forgotten that fact. Is it possible for gay people to ghettoize themselves?) Anyway, afterwards, I went to Tower Records.

At Tower Records, I found the opera section, found the Karajan recording of the Ring. Picked it up. Looked at it. Thought about it. Put it down. Looked around the store at other things. Came back to the opera section several times, finally picked it up, walked halfway to the registers. Stopped. Stood there. Walked back to the opera section, put it back down. Looked around the store again. Went back to the opera section. Picked it up. Stood there. Walked. Stopped. Stood. Thought. Walked. Finally I said, what the hell — I already have credit card debt, what difference will this make? Live a little. Fucking enjoy yourself for once.

So I bought it, and I’m glad I did. It’s great. I’m listening to Act I of Siegfried right now. Wagner’s operas have long stretches where nothing seems to happen, and then there’ll be a big dramatic moment. It’s terrifically inventive music. Fourteen CD’s worth.

Saturday Night

Saturday night I had my date. It pretty much sucked. We went out to dinner and then we went to g, a bar in Chelsea. (For those non-New Yorkers out there: yep, it’s just called “g”.) The guy was boring, he wasn’t charismatic, and he mumbled. I kept having to ask him to repeat himself. He wasn’t even all that attractive, but at g I tried to put the moves on him — we were sitting on a couch and I rested my arm against the back of his seat, behind his shoulders, my fingers lightly grazing them. After a few seconds he moved forward, away from my arm, and didn’t move back. Eventually, he decided he was going to head home. So, on top of it being a bad date, I didn’t even get any play. Not that that’s a requirement for a date, but I was horny, and I’d been hoping.

He left, and although I was tired and slightly buzzed, I didn’t want to go home. So I took the subway to the East Village and went to the Boiler Room, where I just got a glass of water to help hydrate myself. I pretty much just stood there for a few minutes. There was a guy to my left who might have been looking at me out of the corner of his eye, I’m not sure. But a few minutes later, he was talking to someone else, so I said to myself, fuck it, and I left.

From there I went to Wonderbar, which was crowded, and I got myself a plain ol’ Coke. I don’t even know what I want when I go to a bar, but anyway, I didn’t see anyone I wanted to talk to. Plus, I was tired, and at that point I just wanted to go home. So I finished my Coke and left the bar.

For some reason I was so angry — a combination of frustration, fatigue, and alcohol. I’d spent that afternoon with a friend of mine, discussing why I can’t seem to relax, why I worry so much, why I can’t seem to quit being so introspective, why I can’t seem to be fully happy. See, I worry about time a lot. I’m 27, and I feel like life is passing me by. I feel like I’m way behind where I should be at this point in my life. My biggest fear is that I’m going to die without ever… without ever what? Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know.

Therapists have always told me that I don’t need Prozac or anything like that. I’m normal. I don’t spend the day in bed depressed. I don’t wash my hands 20 times a day. My tongue doesn’t dart in and out of my mouth when I talk to people. It’s just that I’m a generally anxious person. It seems purely psychological.

So I was walking the long walk west from Avenue A to Sixth Avenue, where there’s a PATH station. In order to keep myself from completely cannibalizing my soul, in order to keep some flame of self-worth alive inside me, I said to myself several times, in a low whisper, “I’m a great guy… I know I am… I love myself…” hoping that it would sink in. Fortunately there was nobody nearby to turn me into the authorities.

I realize my blog has been sort of unexciting this week. I haven’t been angsting as much, I haven’t been writing about weird guys named Steve or about fuckbuddies who desert me. (Or about dessert buddies who fuck me, but that was never in the contract.) Coincidentally, my daily number of hits has gone down. I don’t know if there’s a connection there. But jeez — apparently I get as many hits on a good day as Adolescent Egomaniac gets on a bad day.

But anyway, it’s not about hits, right? It’s about how many people like you.

Still, let me sum up some recent personal events:

– I haven’t been in contact with The Guy since an online chat last Friday night.

– I’ve been majorly chatting online with a guy who seems incredibly interesting. We’ve chatted for several nights, several hours each night. We seem to have lots in common: young, intelligent, slightly angst-ridden, shorter than average, Jewish. So far he seems hesitant to meet, though. I can anticipate what Mike will say: “Honey, dump him. Move on.” :) We’ll see.

– I have a date tomorrow night with a 28-year-old gay Jewish ex-attorney. That could be fun.

But really, I have to work now.

On That Note

I’m barely getting any work done today, and if you’re a regular reader of this blog, that news will not shock you.

Lately I’ve been considering buying a recording of the Ring Cycle by Richard Wagner. This is a series of four operas he wrote in the 19th century; altogether they take up 14 or 15 CD’s, depending on the conductor. I’ve considered this on and off during the past four years or so, but so far I’ve never been able to bring myself to shell out around $150 for a complete recording. There’s no reason I’ll change my mind any time soon, given that I’m poor. But lately I’ve really wanted to own the recording conducted by Herbert von Karajan.

I’m not supposed to like Wagner, because I’m Jewish. And actually, I don’t like him or his music all that much. It doesn’t really click with me. I don’t tend to go for the big Romantic stuff, and I can never seem to get into big operatic voices. I seem to prefer music that is more structured, fresh and intellectual — the intertwined polyphony of Renaissance choral music. The stark innovation of Stravinsky’s neoclassical works. Bach fugues and such.

As for Wagner, I feel an ingrained aversion to the man and everything he stands for. Still, some of his music is great. The thing is, I really want to own the Ring Cycle and get to know it better. It’s supposed to be one of the pinnacles of Western musical culture, and I want to learn to like it and appreciate it.

When I was in college and law school I would spend way too much money on classical music CD’s that I’d listen to maybe once, if even that. I wanted to have complete sets of things for no other reason than to have them — Haydn’s piano trios, Mozart’s string quartets, complete operas, and so on. Fortunately, I’ve barely bought any CDs in the past year.

But someday… mwahahahaha.

Tonight I’m seeing a straight friend of mine in a musical called The Overdevelopment of Scott. I have no idea what it’s about. It’s one of those little-known New Yorky small-stage run-of-four-performances-type things. This city is filled with them.

Gosh… I need sleep.