Here in Hotlanta, everyone’s a musician or a wannabe or a dj. You encounter at least one of the above daily. Yesterday on the bus home from work, I sat down next to Glenn G, wearing all black, black sunglasses, and a black golfers cap. He is the lead singer/bassist in a funk band that I promised to check out someday. Today on the elevator, a muscular black man in a throw back jersey was trying to pawn off his poetry jazz demo tape to a strangely dressed black man wearing sunglasses, a braves cap, a falcons jersey, a gucci travel bag, and carrying a Dallas Cowboys’ football helmet.
Since moving to ATL, over 20 assorted men have introduced themselves to me as a DJ of some sort, and I have yet to receive a mix tape! That’s all I’m asking for! I couldn’t even get my ex-boyf. to make me one, even after I helped him untangle a mess of wires from his turn-table setup. Sigh.
I can’t explain to you why girls love musicians. We just do. Even if a man plays the kazoo, we’ll take that and cherish it. Even if a man played the banjo back in the fifth grade, we’ll ignore the dorky insinuations and sigh dreamily, hoping that his once musical talent may one day resurface into a glorious serenade. I don’t actually know if a banjo serenade would be any good, but every girl loves a good serenade.
I myself have only been serenaded once. It was on a train from Munich to Daccau, about 2 years ago. I was traveling with this guy Andrew, who was so cool and so much fun. Upon discovering that I didn’t know a single Johnny Cash song, he sang me every song he knew, which lasted the entire train ride. Somehow, the Germans didnt seem to mind since he sang it well with a deep voice. It was a full train, and he was the only one standing in our train car, with his leg propped up on a ledge, posed in the Captain Morgan style. It was the best!
Sidenote on Andrew: one of the coolest guys ever. One of the only men I regret not having kissed. One of the only men in my bustling Munich hostel that didn’t try to kiss me. One of the man-liest, most polite texas gentleman ever. Big as a lumberjack, always carried me with him to the front of the line. Talked cars, drank beer, ate schnitzel (deep fried porkchops) every day for a week. We’d wake up, head to the Augustiner brewhaus (the best) have lunch, drink dark tasty Bavarian beer, walk the city, take a nap, wake up for happy hour at the hostel, drink alot of Paulaner, then find random misfits to troll the night with. Definitely one of the best weeks ever.