Claude Debussy

I had an art buddy in law school. His name was Gary. Between college and law school, Gary had worked in a NY City gallery that represented Jasper Johns. He did not consider me an adequate art buddy: I didn't know anywhere near enough about art compared to him. But it was slim pickings in law school. So he and I spent a lot of time hanging out in galleries and museums. One of our favorite habits was to pour over art books at Gary's apartment (he lived in a bona fide penthouse overlooking downtown Minneapolis: Gary was rich) and Gary would give me lectures about art. He needed someone to tell all his knowledge to and I drank it thirstily.

While Gary delivered his lectures, he also played a lot of classical music. I fell in love with Debussy and Gary made fun of me, telling me Debussy was femmy, romantic music and I was a sap to love Debussy. He said the fact that I loved Debussy was a sign of how ignorant I was. I was a sap in those days because I should have told Gary to fuck off but I didn't because he was my art buddy. Ever since then, I've been ashamed of my dirty secret: I love Debussy's romantic smaltz. I longed to point out to Gary that he was the one who owned and played Debussy in the first place but I was shy and shame-based. Now that I am thinking back, I think Gary was an asshole but he hid it with with his erudition and urbanity.

Right now I am loading a bunch of Debussy onto my iPod. I can't wait to listen.

Gary owned a Jasper Johns. The penthouse, the Johns, the Debussy. . .