ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR KISSES TO THE WORLD
SEATTLE, Washington Whatever else happens in my life, I have cranked Manos Hadjidakis "over 11" in the University Bookstore. He's the composer who blended classical with laiki (kinda Greek bluegrass) with rembetika (sorta Turkish-flavored blues) and scored the eternal film Never on Sunday, among other career highlights (1925-1994). And I played his music loud enough to rattle molars, after the latest Greece, A Love Story reading.
Around 55 people turned out for five authors, a heartening ratio since two came from Portland and one from the Bay Area. Headcount aside, I still have never felt so supported. When I stepped down from the podium, Cynthia and Katerina strangers yesterday both wrapped their arms around me. Only seating probably prevented Sarah and Linda from doing the same.
And well, not to get all feminist-press mushy or anything but that was the nicest aspect of airing My Big Fat Greek Divorce, as At the Seashore with Medea is known at home.
Sarah's DJ-ing on an island. Cynthia's cruising on a moped. Katerina's dancing on the bar top.
I'm identifying with a d@amned cockroach in Athens, as my seven-year marriage dissolves.
"Hi, I'm Amanda. I'll be the nasty bolt of reality this evening. Please try to funnel your tears into the approved irrigation ducts, which will water baby carrots for runaway teens on the Ave. Efharisto para poli."
Not even a carbo-load can carry the average soul through that sad tale.
So I finish. And then I twist up the Hadjidakis until bigger, better emotions move us all.