I heard it more than once this evening: “We’re all sinners here.”
And saints, of course. Just as every cop’s a criminal. Fortunately, when you’re in a family of sinners, at least you’re keeping good company.
What’s it all mean? Lemme’ try and explain.
Hmmmmm, where to start? Ok, last night. I leave the windows open because it’s thunderstorming. I sleep deep and dreamless. I wake around seven with more than enough to do before the 9:30 news meeting: stretch, run, stretch, shower, coffee, dry cleaning (my new sportcoat for God’s sake!), send mailers… all in New Orleans heat. You know what I mean: you’re sweating all over. I mean, I broke out the red Springsteen hanky in the back pocket.
Then work. I’ll spare you. Save to say that I lost some innocence there, as I do most days these days. In a good way. Which is to say, in a real way. Then three subways north to East 96th. Pause. Then two subways and nine blocks to 23d Street for Smith Family rehearsal.
Aaaah, The Smith Family: five strangers living together to stop being nice and start being real — oh wait, wrong thing. The country band. These cats are a ton of fun. Why? Because it’s not about fame or fortune, but the joy of playing together and drinking free beer. Did I mention free beer? This Thursday night at Yabby in Brooklyn? Well, lemme’ clarify: we have an 18-song set, and we get the free beer. But you should come anyhow. If not for the pirate jokes and witty banter, then for the tunes. Good tunes. Trust me. And plenty of potty mouth.
Why? I dunno’. ‘Cuz life’s worth living, even if it’s an 18-hour day, even if it’s 86 degrees and 100% humidity, even if the streets smell like piss, and some chump on the 8th floor is tryin’ to suck the joy from your joy. Whatever, yunno’? ‘Cuz heck yeah, those afternoon storms may roll through and force you to buy one of those five dollar umbrellas as you step out of the Lexington Line, but you know what?
You’re in good company. We’re all sinners here. And we’re all family.
