It's Never Too Late

I saw Miss H. sing last night. She and her band participated in a Battle of the Bands at a club on 30th St. The bands, nine in all, are part of an organization comprised of weekend warriors. They are all highly accomplished musicians who got caught in the maelstrom of life and woke up one day to find themselves doing something other than making music for a living.

It’s a little disconcerting to be listening to a speed metal version of “Hocus Pocus” by Focus and look up on stage and see a bunch a guys who look more like accountants and plumbers than rock stars. There were a lot of receding hairlines, bulging waists and preening that’s more appropriate for people half their age, but do you know what? It was obvious that they were all visiting their version of heaven, so I will not judge. Miss H. ripped through a version of Alanis Morissette’s “Uninvited” that was a world away from her life as a former client service executive at a financial institution. I didn’t recognize her. She was great. There were girls dancing in suspended cages who were, thank God, age appropriate for that job.

Beforehand, I ate at the infamous Gyro II across the street from Madison Square Garden. How can a sandwich that smells so rancid and trails such a foul stench and looks like guts on pita be so scrumptious? A Gyro II gyro laughs at the laws of science and nature. It may reek and give you trench breath, but when you bite into it, it fills your mouth with happiness and joy. And for a lousy $6.50, well, you just can’t go wrong. I wish I were using a scratch-n’-sniff font so I could share its essence with you right now.