Realized a concordance today between two of my dreams.
I’ve always wanted to be a cheesy lounge pianist, the guy in the corner of the bar at the Holiday Inn out by the airport playing “As Time Goes By” and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, with dark talent and a brooding sense of the inevitable permeating my music, using those familiar melodies to tell a story both dark and redemptive.
I’ve also always wanted to write noir detective fiction, sending my Philip Marlowe into the Hollywood Hills (LA, it’s always old LA) on behalf of a good not quite good enough, but it’ll have to do, ten bucks a day plus expenses and no questions asked, a brooding sense of the inevitable permeating my stories, using those familiar cadences to tell a story both dark and redemptive.
I realized today they’re the same.
(“You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.“)