About two this afternoon, I decided I had to get out and about, a little to long inside. So, I drove over the Old Santa Cruz highway, up through the redwoods, down to the coast at Santa Cruz. It is a beautiful little trip, and I stopped a couple of places and just...was.
In Santa Cruz I drove downtown, onto River Street, and angled toward a nice little Mexican place I know. On impulse, at the last second, I went into a nearly empty Italian restaraunt, Cafe Mare. I had eaten there once before, last year, and had recalled with fondness their gnocchi.
I was between lunch and dinner, so the only ones in the place were me, my nephew, the bartender, and the waitress. I took a table outside, so I could people watch. The waitress was a little slip of a woman, five nothing, red hair, white skin with a splash of freckles.
I ordered Alaskan halibut in a diabla sauce, with new potatoes, and an artichoke and spinach salad in vinagrette, and a bottle of peligrino. Then, I just sat there and enjoyed the moment, one of those near perfect California days. I enjoyed the architecture - eclectic. I enjoyed the people passing by - eclectic. I listened to the music piped through the cafe speaker at the low, persistent volume that your hear but don't quite notice. It was italian american musak standards.
The waitress brought our orders and I noticed she was humming something under her breath. I thought for a few moments that she was humming along with the musak. I excused myself for prying, explained I was cursed with a near infinite curiousity, and asked what she was humming. She demurred at first, with a small laugh. I persisted politely, told her that it would be a closely kept secret between her, me, my musically inclined friends and my online journal. I told her I had friends who continually had radios running in their brains. I told her I had an almost constant inner monologue that sometimes was an entire ensemble cast of mad men, gifted women, and second rate character actors.
I told her how difficult it was to go through life with an almost continuous running commentary by Peter Lorre. I did my Peter Lorre on the virtues of arugala imitation. When K.T. finally stopped laughing she agreed to tell me the song playing on her brain-radio. It was powerful song that kept the musak at bay.
So, for everyone who inner voice or inner radio keeps them sane in a sometimes insane world, here is the magic song one irish waitress in an italian cafe in Santa Cruz California was humming on a perfect Saturday afternoon in paradise.
The Ramones.
"I Want To Be Sedated."
Sometimes life...dazzles. K.T. - thanks for dazzling and good luck in school.
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