I’m not even a SMART geek.
Like most complexes catering to upwardly mobile urban professionals such as my husband (I’m more of a laterally meandering hanger-on), our apartment building likes to post little notices in the elevator. Sometimes it’s a sternly worded, disappointed sounding letter regarding people dropping “items” off their balconies (cigarette butts? Babies? No idea.), other times it’s a menu from the Asian place that I’m pretty sure is giving the manager a kickback.
Today’s offering was a weather forecast (Rain. Rain. Less Rain. Rain.) and a listing of concerts and events that would be of interest to upwardly mobile urban professionals. I got all excited when I saw “Dave Brubeck and Ramsey Lewis at the Paramount Theater, April 25th.”
This is not because of my overwhelming passion for Jazz, which would require a modicum of culture. It’s because I’m a retarded nerd.
When I read the name “Dave Brubeck,” my mind saw:
Ed Brubaker is a brilliant comic book author, and one of the best crime writers working in any medium today. Great, gritty stuff, like Gotham Central, Criminal, a great run on Daredevil…you should go buy some of his stuff right now. He lives in Seattle, and like any comic book geek, I keep hoping I’ll run into him one of these days so I can fan-girl out, though it will not be on April 25th at the Paramount Theater, because ED BruBAKER, while many fine things, is not a legend of Jazz.
Nor, as I first thought, is Ramsey Lewis this man:
Now it’s bad enough that I mistook another ancient Jazz legend for Gordon Ramsey, belligerent restaurateur of Hell’s Kitchen fame (though the BBC “Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares” is far superior, check it out if you get a chance).
But what the hell did I think Ed Brubaker and Gordon Ramsey would be doing together at the Paramount Theater?
Seriously, somehow I saw “Dave Brubeck and Ramsey Lewis,” mentally substituted a beloved crime writer and a British chef, then tried to give my brain a big “THUMBS UP! THIS’LL BE AWESOME!” signal. I mean, I was already reaching for my (Jay’s) credit card, for Christ’s sake. And then when I took a second to remind myself I’m a moron who should not be trusted to read (or buy) things properly, I was actually disappointed.
Pathetic.
Anyway, so it’s Jazz on April 25th, not whatever feats of book reading and obscenity laced cooking I was apparently hoping for. If you’ve got a modicum of upwardly mobile culture, you should probably go.
I’ll be curling up with the trade paperback of “Lawless” and DVR’ing some Hell’s Kitchen.