jilly bowl

You know that moment when you're at a concert and it gets sorta quiet, and then you hear a few notes of a really great song? I love that.

Last weekend it was Billy Joel, and Vienna. What a song, that one. Is it just me, or do you  belt out the words to that song whenever you hear it and immediately add it to your karaoke/soundtrack/lifestory playlist? I mean, c'mon.

Slow down, you crazy child. Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while. It's alright you can afford to lose a day or two.

You sing it out, alright. And even when you notice that you're the only one doing so,  you just sing louder, because it's a great song. You're in the cheap seats, after all. Amateur hour.

Then later, you move down to a really great spot where you kindred old-drunk spirit tribe is grooving to the Big Shot vibe, making eyes and making out and dancing with big smiles on that beautiful night at the ballpark.

Again, it gets quiet. Again, the first notes rock your socks off. Because it's Scenes from an Italian Restaurant! And you jump up and down with all the happy peeps and you are so glad to be down here where everyone is going to know the words.

And yet? When you look around for a likeminded belter outer as Brenda and Eddie meet their inevitable fate, you once again find yourself the only one singing. And it's fine, because it's a great freaking song and you're kinda famous for your enthusiasm and for knowing all the words, but really the only question that lingers in that lovely, lonely moment is.... where are my sisters?