Opinion: Dear Covel Pianists, La La Land Won’t Heal Your Heartache

I get it. It’s the score of dreamers. If a flash mob were to break out in Ackerman, we could all imitate the choreography of “Another Day of Sun” like flower-capped synchronized swimmers. But when it’s 9:00 p.m., and we’re all just waiting for our BittieBitez order to come out, the last tune anyone needs to hear is the intro to “City of Stars,” which is only audibly acceptable if it’s whistled from Ryan Gosling’s mouth. Your musical fervor has even rendered you oblivious to the miserable looks of Jimmy — the Covel security guard who just placed his two weeks’ notice.

Just because the piano won Emma Stone’s affection doesn’t mean Emma from your discussion section will come knocking on your deluxe dorm door once you finally vacate the weary vessel feeling emptier than when you arrived. No, I’m not saying to switch to Interstellar and don’t invite your violin-playing wingman who gets too excited with the vibrato. Just be cognizant that not all soul-searching needs to be forced through an instrument other people can hear. That’s what journals (and BittieBitez) are for. Put simply, just as Mia Hates Jazz, I’m starting to hate You.