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.