If People were Books.
Chris has been on a Chopin jag, and playing these wistful nocturnes, a category of music Chopin actually created: night musics. They are slow and bittersweet, like small children falling asleep after a hard day at play. They are deep and soul-touching.
"Do you think Chopin was a party animal?" he asks me.
"Oh, yeah. Of course! Moulin Rouge!"
"Chopin was 80 years after Moulin Rouge!"
"You mean like Persians are impressive hulks?" A few months earlier, Chris had cited this nugget of information, and when queried on it, used the movie '300' as his validation. If he can take historical information from comic-book movies, I certainly can match him with historical informtion by Baz-movies.
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure Chopin and Toulouse-Lautrec and Socrates all got scorched together!"
"If you were a book, what chapter would you be called?" I asked him.
"Forty-seven." His age.
I laugh. I am not sure what mine would be. "Lost in the middle of the pond, but not necessarily worried about it at this point?"