.SOMETIMES RAW.

You know I’m not a mathematician. You know that adding simple numbers isn’t something I can do. You know that subtracting simple numbers isn’t something I can do either. When we first met, I told you, I didn’t understand quantum physics, regular physics, or how many a dozen is. And you laughed like you thought I was joking. And then I laughed because you were laughing. And then I drank too much because I couldn’t accurately count the number of drinks I’d had. Also, on that date, I explained to you that I had skipped every single math class I had ever had in school because they seemed boring. And you laughed again because you thought I was joking, but I wasn’t.

I don’t need a fourth-grade math skillset to know that you + me = something special.

How long have we been dating? You could tell me it’d been a couple of years, because I feel so comfortable with you, and also because I am not good at math. You could also tell me it’d been only a couple of months because everything feels so fresh and exciting and new and also because I am not good at math.

We’ve had so many good times together. Like, remember that date when we went out for brunch, and I ordered all those eggs? I ordered scrambled eggs, and then the waiter asked how many, and I panicked and said nine. I did that because I got nervous around you, but also because I have no conception of how many eggs nine is. Then I ate all those eggs and got sick on the floor of that brunch place and was told not to come back. How many brunch places have I been told never to step foot in ever again since we’ve been dating? As you know, I’m not a numbers person.

When I think about our future together, I get scared, because I realize I don’t know how old I am due to the math thing. I know I’m not a baby (well, sometimes I am I guess) because I can walk and talk, but beyond that, who can really say? At night, when I can’t sleep, I don’t count sheep, because—you know. Instead, I picture us together, living in the country. It’s you, it’s me, and it’s eighty golden retrievers. Is that a lot? I don’t even know if eighty dogs is a lot because I’m bad at math. I do remember you being upset when I bought you thirty cats for your birthday. But maybe you were just mad because they were cats and not because you were actually frustrated about the number of them. You know I don’t know if eighty dogs or thirty cats is a lot, but I do know that I want to be with you.

I don’t need to have the intellect of Albert Einstein to know that you’re the one for me. I may be unable to add, subtract, divide, multiply, or effectively use a calculator, but I know there’s something here. And hey, I know I’ve got my faults. There’s the whole math thing, the being banned from brunch places because of overheating due to the math thing, and all those cats I bought you that ended up kind of wrecking your apartment because of the math thing. I may never understand the Pythagorean Theorem or the associative law of multiplication or even what all those zeroes that come after the one in my savings account mean. Ugh, so-so-so many zeroes! It’s kind of concerning.

You know I’m bad at math, but you + me = something special.

Yeah, sex is cool, but have you ever decluttered your house and donated, sold, or thrown out a bunch of things?

OK, sure, sex is cool, but have you ever successfully kept up with your expenses in real-time for a full calendar year so you can make a big purchase of something you always wanted?

Yeah, sex is great, but have you ever had chocolate cake in the morning for breakfast?

So, sex is great but has your partner ever sneaked up behind you and just kissed you on your neck?

So there’s sex. But there’s also your child’s school not assuming you are the default on-call parent because of your gender, and instead contacting your male partner first to pick up your sick child in the middle of the day.

Yeah, sex is cool, but have you ever framed a print you’ve owned for five years and actually hung it on the wall? Because that is truly orgasmic.

Yeah, sex is cool, but have you ever had a bookshelf wall full of books?

Ooo yeah, sex is very cool, but even hotter is if you click “unsubscribe” from dumb newsletters and put your phone and computer in “sleep mode” at 2100 hours.

Yeah, sex, blah blah blah, but have you watched Stephen King’s IT with popcorn on the couch yet???

Sex is a thing that is good. But have you ever seen Human Resources take a documented pattern of harassment seriously and fire someone immediately with no retaliation against the people who filed the complaints? Because that, wow, is also very, very good.

I am a big proponent of sex, BUT… have you ever been invited to an event you didn’t want to attend and just said “no” without making up a convoluted excuse and had the other person accept your personal boundary right away?

There’s sex, then there’s the all-over tingling sensation you get from deciding not to read the article that is infuriating everyone on the internet.

Sex can definitely be satisfying, but is it as consistently satisfying as listening to the rain while being inside with a good book, a cup of hot chocolate, and a foot massage?

Sex is cool but have you ever turned to a teenager in a movie theater who has started looking at their phone twenty minutes into the first act, calmly hissed, “Put that away right now” and had them obey you immediately?

You could have sex, or you could just recycle your entire stack of unread magazines and papers all at once without an ounce of guilt. You will feel the same release.

Sex is cool and you should do it… but I would also recommend the experience of hearing the voice of your therapist in your head as you’re about to make the exact same mistake you’ve made numerous times in the past but then CHOOSING NOT TO DO IT because you’ve grown as a person and you’re doing the work.

There’s kinky sex, and then there’s the thrill of deliberately using a coaster on a table belonging to someone you hate.

OK, I get it—sex is cool, but have you ever asked three senior professional coworkers what their salaries are, had them tell you openly in the spirit of helping, and then gone to your next performance review armed to negotiate with that very helpful information?

Sex is without a doubt very cool. Also cool? Liking and feeling good about your current haircut.

Yes, sure, sex is cool, about as cool as not drinking alcohol at night and then sleeping eight hours straight and somewhere in there having a wild, wild sex dream about Falkor, the luck dragon, from The Neverending Story cause you’re so deep in that sweet REM, baby.

Sex? Cool. Wearing flats to a black-tie wedding because your feet hurt and honestly you think you might be over-wearing heels? Even cooler.

Yeah, sex is cool but have you ever told someone you didn’t really want to hang out with that you had a doctor’s appointment, implied it was somewhat serious, and then spent the better part of an afternoon wandering around in the woods looking at trees enjoying the silcence?

Oh man, good for me. Look at me! I am listening to jazz.

Here I am, just taking in the moment. Fully present. Just me and the music.

Yup yup yup yup yup. Completely immersed. Thinking about nothing else.

The rhythm. The musicality. The syncopation.

Is that the right word? “Syncopation”? That’s a jazz thing?

Sync-o-pate sync-o-pate sync-o-pate.

One thing’s for sure: I am not on my phone right now.

I don’t even know how many minutes it’s been since I looked at my phone.

Because I am too busy listening to this song.

Is it a song?

Does it have to have words to be a song?

Maybe it’s a piece?

That’d be kinda pretentious. This isn’t a museum.

I mean it’s “ART.” No one is saying this isn’t art.

But it’s not Van Gogh. You can’t listen to a Van Gogh.

Is that insensitive? He cut off one ear. But he still had another one.

Oh, you know what? I bet they call it a “tune.”

Man, jazz guys are so cool.

That bass player is rockin’ that flat cap.

I don’t think I could pull that off.

Maybe if I carried a bass with me people would buy it.

How does he get that thing around?

Does he take it on the subway?

If he did, he could say, “SHOWTIME!” That’d be a fun little joke.

In the bass community, is it just generally accepted that you have to have a car?

If you’re a jazz player and you run into another one, do you give each other tips as a show of solidarity?

I’m so glad I have the attention span to appreciate this music.

Not everyone could sit here and just totally let go of themselves like I’m currently doing.

Especially not in my generation.

Honestly, I feel kinda bad for people my age.

Constantly distracted. Unable to appreciate what’s happening directly in front of them.

Not me!

I’m an old soul.

Are we still on the first song?

Sorry—first tune?

You know what? Doesn’t matter.

I got nowhere to be but here.

Does the library close at ten or eleven?

Well, what difference does it make?

I’m just gonna leave whenever the show’s over anyway.

I mean, I guess if I know when the library closes, and the show goes late, then I can have a backup plan ready so I don’t waste any time googling.

I’ll look it up between the sets.

Is a group of “tunes” a “set”?

How come jazz shows don’t have playbills?

Oh, wait, everyone’s clapping. Was that a solo just now?

How do they decide how long the solos go?

I bet there are some guys who are, like, notorious for going way too long.

And it’s like, are they showboats or are they geniuses?

It can be difficult to tell the difference.

Like Airplane. Now that was a movie.

Denzel Washington is hot!

I really liked La La Land and Babylon, but I totally zoned out during First Man.

It just feels like such a waste of time for everybody involved when you go see art and you suddenly realize your mind has been wandering the whole time thinking about a bunch of bullshit.

Whoa, the saxophone player has a flute now!

I wonder if he’s seen Anchorman.

He probably gets that all the time.

“You stay classy, San Diego.” Hilarious.

Why don’t they make mid-budget studio comedies anymore?

What is Judd Apatow doing to nurture the next generation of comedy directors?

Who made Blockers? I liked Blockers.

Oh, here comes the end of the tune.

🎵Da daaa, da daaaa, DA da daaaaa! 🎵

WOOOOOOOOOO!

So good.

I’m so glad I’m here right now.

How long was that, an hour?

Let me check.

Twelve minutes.

You know what? There’s a whole lot of city out there.

I should be spontaneous and leave right now.

Off to the library I go.