almost blue

Today I had the pleasure of watching Bruce Weber's astonishingly beautiful (and exquisitely sad) 1989 film, Let's Get Lost, a documentary about the life and decline of Chet Baker. The final scene is of the 57-year-old Chet, who looks about 30 years older than that, singing Elvis Costello's haunting torch song, "Almost Blue."

I've been a fan of Elvis for the whole of his three-decade career, but now it's hard to hear his voice, or even his name--because it reminds me of you. During our first long, rambling, wonderful phone conversation you told me about his show Spectacle, and on our second date you were wearing a pair of new Costello-esque spectacles. Soon after we got together you loaned me his latest CD, which I still have, and I haven't returned it because the advice books tell me I'm supposed to go "no contact," and that includes sending stuff that belongs to you, and they say that if you really want the stuff you'll let me know.

Since then, as I said, when I hear his voice, or a song he wrote sung by someone else, or even someone saying his name--it gives my heart a twinge. The other night I was watching this weird random movie where Elvis has a cameo in some crazy subplot. He leaves a message on the main character's answering machine, and then they keep talking about him throughout the movie, and he makes an appearance here and there. I actually cried when I first heard his name. I know it's goofy and sentimental, but that's how I roll. You must already know that about me.

So when I heard Elvis is playing next month in the city, I took a leap of faith and bought a pair of tickets. I splurged--center aisle orchestra seats, midway to the stage. I figured I'd find someone who would love to go with me, any of a number of friends, and have a great time at a fantastic show. But I admit, I secretly wish that it could be you. The venue is in Washington Heights, just over the GWB, so it would be an easy commute for you. And it would be my treat--think of it as a present to celebrate spring, to celebrate life and love and most of all music, which you love as much as I do.

Although this blog is a public space, I have no idea whether you will ever actually read this. Perhaps this is what the spiritual teachers call "putting it out into the universe," and maybe it will reach you on what they call a "soul level." If so, and you want the other ticket, it's yours. Just call. Or send an old-fashioned card or letter, or better yet, show up on my doorstep with a bouquet of blush-colored roses. Silly as it may sound, my door is still open to you. And to Elvis. And right now, I am more than almost blue.