Wednesday, Jun. 25, 2003 | 10:56 PM

Each of us is a one of a kind Steinway and we each have 88 keys.

88 keys. That�s a lot. You can make a lot of different sounds with 88 keys.

We sit on each other�s benches and open each other up. And we play certain chords. We think,

Oh, that�s what She sounds like. That�s who She is.

We each have 88 keys. We are all potential symphonies. And yet, we can only bring out certain sounds, certain aspects of one another.

I think we love each other for the chords we can strike. We love the people who can bring out, by plucking with innocent fingertips, the most clear, most pure noise.

I love Eric because he brings out of me my snarkiest, my blackest, my sharpest wit�all Cole Porter ryhmes, all ragtime tempos. I become Dorothy Parker in his company. That is who he knows. That is who he loves. And I love being her when I am around him.

I love Ivy because with her I am a Chopin sonata. I am tender and sincere. Soft and unpredictable. All embellishments and fierce romanticism. I do not have to be embarrassed of my ardor or earnestness. (It�s funny�there is no man who has ever drawn out this quality in me. I don�t know if men are capable of doing it. )

I love Angus because he turns me into a three chord progression�something feral and unapologetic, something rash and young that�s unafraid to say whatever comes to mind. I�m a two minute Ramones hymn. Tight drums and pogo-sticks.

And of course hate works the same way. Some people play me and I�m all wrong notes, maudlin minor scales. Staccato when I should be legato. Forte when I should be pianissimo.

I am learning to play myself. Learning to understand the geography my instrument. Sometimes I�m out of tune, but I can recognize now. I have ear training.

And there is no better musician than one who is self taught.