Mr. Big

Ladies love Mr. Big. They’re all lookin’ for him, whoever he is, whatever he represents. Seeking insight, and maybe some advices, I went to the source tonight…

Chris Noth’s Cutting Room on 24th Street.

Sadly, Big was nowhere to be found. I’ve seen him there before, though I never said hello or anything. He’s kinda’ big (der) and imposing. Plus he’s an HBO star and all.

It was Fat Tuesday. And not the best one for me, really. I went through the corporate motions, but wasn’t feelin’ it much at all. I was distracted. I was pretty distracted by the heartbreak (sorry, I pledged I’d not post about it). That’s what we sensitive types do. We ruminate. We analyze. We feel. So sue me. I listened to techno all day, but what I really wanted to hear was melancholy singer/songwriter pap.

But I decided after work that I wasn’t going to go home and be pathetic and wallow. So I met Kevin to see a woman we hope’ll play violin in our country band do her thing. She was really talented. And I think she’ll join our little country band.

So we drank a lot of beer, but we didn’t see Big. Which is kinda’ the way I like it. ‘Cuz I don’t think Carrie shoulda’ gone back to him. I mean, clearly I’m a romantic. I like a Hollywood ending. I just don’t have a ton of confidence in Big — all handsome and perfect on the outside. I’m not sure he’ll stick around, or work through the hard stuff. Which is what love’s all about (seems to me).

So like I said, The Cutting Room is on 24th Street. I recorded ‘Crash Site’ on 26th Street. So there I was, hailing a cab in the middle of the night on an empty Sixth Avenue — just like old times. It felt full-circle in some way. Like, ‘Here I am again!’ Which, well, I was… I am. There, er, here… again.

‘Here I am again!’