today: 10.17.99
every day

"people all over the world are starved...for affection."

Went to a Jonathan Richman show last night. I see him because he makes me feel just about 8 years older than I am. I think, all in all, I must have been to 8 or 9 Jonathan Richman shows. This is probably a personal record for repeat attendances. With Jonathan (We're tight; I call him Jonathan and he calls me Excusemeijustwannatalkto-thatgirlstandingnextoyou. I realize that's a mouthful, but Johnny really works his mouth around those big words.) there's always a surprise; sometimes he's really preoccupied and doesn't finish a single song before wandering to the next one, and other times he just wants to dance and might even abandon his guitar for 2 or 3 songs while he sings and twists without instrumental accompaniment. I would hate to be his drummer, as Jonathan Richman only plays to a weird, unpredictable beat in his head.

"well, the night is still young and my bed is so cold."

But he's quite a charmer and last night was no different. He danced, he gazed, he drummed the surface of his guitar and he sang about (in this order, I think): crushes, being confused about love, paris, new york, goth girls, lesbian bars, affection, the silent treatment, settling down, pablo picasso, the velvet underground and affection once more (he started the song earlier and, thinking better, finished it about 8 songs later). All of this no-nonsense sentimentality created a lot of good time feelings in the audience and it wasn't long before there were sightings of long, sugary huggings and dewy eye meetings all across the general admission floor.

"i don't want a girl to fool around with/i don't want some girl to ball/ i just want a girl i care about a lot, or nothing at all."

After a while, it was more than I could handle, frankly. Not because I was embittered and repulsed by the open acts of teen-style love unfolding around me but for something else I couldn't quite taste.

There was one couple in particular that held my interest for a really long time. Both relatively attractive. Him in vintage cowboy shirt and jeans; her in smallish black dress, probably chosen to accompany a pre-show dinner. Her behind him, towering about 4 inches over taller, his arms stretched behind his back and hers, grasping her hands with his. They held hands with powerful faith while Jonathan took the whole audience to school on Fleeting, Sleepless Romance. And, as I leaned uncomfortably against the wall for support, growing increasingly distracted while the set wound down, I found the source of my discomfort:
my hands felt too empty.