Actually, that's pretty much every Ross.
Anyway, we're not doing any real sightseeing mainly because we've rented such a magnificent home. It's so huge, we barely see each other and occasionally, someone'll walk past the pool and I'll go, "Oh yeah. My mother's here."
However last night, the 6 "kids" went to Vanessie, a piano bar my folks had visited on a trip here a few years ago. They'd raved and raved about the spot and about Doug, the pianist who charms all the bluehairs who come to hear him. Imagine, if you will, Dorothy, Blanche and Rose out for a night in Santa Fe. That's Vanessie. 70-something's all dressed in their business-casual finest sipping Chardonnay to Doug's version of "Somewhere Out There."
Kate asked me if I thought we'd meet the loves of out lives at Vanessie.
"I don't know." I responded. "I've never been into guys in printed polo shirts."
We couldn't get it table, it was so packed with the nearly dead, but my brother managed to capture the following video, and we're on our way back there tonight...
I don't know where my love of the amateur performer comes from, but I think it stems from the joy I find in the guy with the regular, boring, clip-on-tie job waiting all week to spend his Tuesday nights belting the soundtrack of a dentist office. I find it very sweet and funny and interesting that this passion to perform, something I think I understand pretty goddamn deeply, is actually lived out in public at a microphone while an assembled crowd of the moderately sophisticated watch on/eat onion loaf.
And as for Leonard, the straw-hatted gentleman above, well once I saw his walker put into place at the mic stand and his sassy, self-deprecating delivery of "Leonard" I simply fell in love. With him. With his hobby. With Vanessie...