I’m a Mutant, Too!

Last night, I went on a date.  

Yes, that’s right.  I went on a real, honest-to-goodness, Saturday night, margaritas and nachos first date.  It began with the standard oral presentation of our resumes, where we’re from, what we do, what we like to do when we’re not doing the thing we spend most of our time doing…you know the drill.  He went first: Harvard educated engineer, skipped three grades in school, loves playing guitar, self-described ferocious workaholic (“I want to love my work so much that it feels like sex.”) Ahem.

Then came my turn:  Retired business consultant, impassioned entrepreneur, founder of an FDIC-insured bank, equestrian, loves collecting both fine realist art and cheap costume jewelry, and of course, the owner of The Velvet Note.  

“You own that place?” he sounded stunned.

“I thought you knew that.” 

“I know that’s where we met, dahling, but I thought you were just a customer sitting outside talking to friends.”

“Sometimes I do that too.  Please don’t tell my boss or she might think I’m a slacker.”

A long silence followed.  He couldn’t possibly still be thinking about that joke.  My eyebrow shot up quizzically. “What?” I asked.

“Wow!”  he exclaimed.  “You’re a mutant!”

Wha…wait a minute,  mutant…meeeeuuuuuwwww-tant…  Could this be some form of modern street venacular that I’d missed while burrowing in the suburbs?  I quickly paged through my mind’s dictionary but the only thing that I could come up with was a visual of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Based on that, I was pretty sure that this was not a compliment.

Just as I was about to work up a head of steam, our server stopped by. “Would you all like another round?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.  “Yes, I would definitely like another margarita.”  The words were enunciated with paced precision, and as they exited my mouth, my mutant eyes bore a hole through the server’s skull where I implanted the following secret message:  Help me…..need…..additional…alcohol…..now……..Run……..do…….not……walk.

As I broke eye contact, I quickly summarized how the date was going.  Twenty minutes prior, I had been told that my voice sounded like warm honey.  Ten minutes ago, I had flawless skin. Now, I was a mutant.

“So…you were saying that I’m a mutant?  Dare I ask, what do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean that you’re not just one thing,” he asserted.  “I mean, you are, but you’ve got all of these disparate elements baked in, and they’re so different from each other that you would expect them to cause a disruption, but instead, the synthesized whole makes you completely different from normal people.  If you knew more about me, you’d know that I’m a mutant, too! It’s a surprise…a really good surprise. The bottom line is, I’m not bored.”

“Oh.  Okay. Has anyone ever told you what a smooth-talking romantic you are?”

And then, we laughed.

Later that night, my thoughts shifted to The Velvet Note. The music industry insists on categorizing artists, usually by genre and subgenre.  Jazz..Soul…Folk…Smooth Jazz…we are constantly asking, “What is he/she?” It’s as if the sum and substance of an individual’s entire musical career can be boiled down to one word.  All of the artists we feature this week have proudly and intentionally defied that norm. Their variations are baked in, and it makes them different, special and rare. Isn’t it great when you don’t need to pin someone into a box, but instead, you simply allow them be the mutant they are and appreciate their uniqueness?  Come out and hang with the mutants this week, and we hope to see you soon!