Life in Ink and Footsteps

Did summer feel rushed and busy? Well, that was nothing compared to September. My last month in the USA. Yes, you heard right; we’re reaching the end of this little trip down memory lane. Pretty much every day, something was happening. I started freaking out, realizing my departure wasn’t months or weeks away—just days. So, I tried to soak it all in and experience as much as possible.

One of those experiences was a night in a jazz club with live music. I don’t know if the music in these places is always live since I haven’t had a chance to visit another one since, but this one was, and it was insane. I never liked jazz. Turns out, I just never really knew jazz. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t know much about this genre, but I’ve discovered a few artists since that night, and it’s grown on me. I need a specific mood for it—it’s not an everyday feeling for me.

So, off to the jazz club we went. By “we,” I mean Nordic Beauty, her hot boyfriend, and their third wheel: lil’ ol’ me. The place we visited was called Birdland, somewhere around Midtown. I have no idea if it’s known for being good, bad, or whatever, but I loved it. The whole interior was dark and moody, with this old-school vibe, and people were just enjoying their evenings. Was it like this a hundred years ago? This felt so much better than the dance clubs my bestie usually dragged us to. This felt like my place to unwind. A little note: she did not like it. But hey, we can’t agree on everything.

That night, the artist was Benny Benack the Third and his friends, and they were mind-blowing. It was fun, playful, serious, and easygoing all at once. I’d never seen anything like it. I watched, mesmerized, worried that if I stopped paying attention for even a second, I’d miss something special. I was so engrossed that I couldn’t ignore the fact that the piano player was smoking hot. When he smiled and winked at me, I blushed to the roots of my hair.

Anyway, we spent the evening there, savoring the performance, sipping cocktails, and just being. When it ended, I might have shed a tear or two and rushed to buy the artist’s CD. Yes, people still sold CDs back then. Isn’t that crazy? I still have it, even though I don’t have anything to play it on. But it’s signed, and it’ll always be a beautiful reminder of that magical night.

As we stood there waiting for my friend’s partner to cover the bill—he was hella generous—the pianist came over to us. I was so starstruck he probably thought I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I could barely breathe, so I don’t blame him. He invited us to his next show, which I couldn’t make because of my departure, and that made me sad. Why? Because he was talented and gorgeous, and I had a huge crush on him. Really huge. Embarrassingly huge. I didn’t even care if he was only promoting his show. So what?

The next stop was a rooftop bar. If there’s one part of NYC nightlife I actually enjoyed—besides jazz clubs, as it turned out—it was rooftop bars. This one was right across from the Empire State Building, and the views were phenomenal from every angle. We kept drinking, people-watching, and, in my case, architecture-watching. Our last stop was the pool bar. We’d played a lot of pool that year. I sucked at it, but it was always fun. By then, it was close to sunrise, and everyone was drunk, so I left those lovebirds to their own devices and called it a night.

Since then, jazz has held a special place in my heart.
Benny Benack III – One of a Kind