Galleries, Dinner, and Karoeke
Taunt the weather without an umbrella, ignoring signs of the upcoming storm/hurricane/apocalypse.
Meet up with an interesting girl, on what could be a date, though it's just the second time we've hung out, so it's anybodies guess (is it worth giving her an alias yet, when her status is undefined?). Went to a couple galleries together, starting with Wim Wenders at James Cohan... a talented though uneven director takes gorgeous pictures. Who knew? Well, I did, considering I love his photography waaaaaaaay more than his films (though I confess I have seen only a few), and have his brilliant book "Once", which includes his pictures of the American SouthWest.
Catch the exhibit while it's up; especially spend a few minutes standing in front of the desert vista (you'll know the one I mean). It's worth it.
Then I get dinner with the Girl. She's very cute and full of interesting chat. Potential there. But she is tired. Maybe it's that she works for a magazine and feeling the fallout of fashion week, or maybe I'm not as witty as I think.
We say goodnight and I feel tired from a week of work/music/work/debauchery and am about to head home myself, when a call to a friend lands me at Winnie's, a karoeke bar in Chinatown, to celebrate a gay friend of a friend's birthday. Now one thing I can say for my gay friends, they (and the fag hag musical theater women who love them) know how to sing much better than the straights in the bar.
But maybe (just maybe) it's just that the straight people at Winnie's suck ass. After a particular guy's wretched renditions make me want to break my bottle of tsing tao over the table and slice my own throat, I slip the song wench a bribe of three whole dollars and jump to the front of the queue. It's time to show everyone that a straight man can sing.
So I step up, but just in case (I'm still pretty sober), I get my own gay men's chorus (including the ringer, the birthday boy, who can really carry a tune). But there's no real need, for I belt out "Sweet Home Alabama" like I'm straight out of Mobile. For a few moments, I owned that tune.
Having come what I set out to do, I hug everyone and leave. "Good night, New York!"
Meet up with an interesting girl, on what could be a date, though it's just the second time we've hung out, so it's anybodies guess (is it worth giving her an alias yet, when her status is undefined?). Went to a couple galleries together, starting with Wim Wenders at James Cohan... a talented though uneven director takes gorgeous pictures. Who knew? Well, I did, considering I love his photography waaaaaaaay more than his films (though I confess I have seen only a few), and have his brilliant book "Once", which includes his pictures of the American SouthWest.
Catch the exhibit while it's up; especially spend a few minutes standing in front of the desert vista (you'll know the one I mean). It's worth it.
Then I get dinner with the Girl. She's very cute and full of interesting chat. Potential there. But she is tired. Maybe it's that she works for a magazine and feeling the fallout of fashion week, or maybe I'm not as witty as I think.
We say goodnight and I feel tired from a week of work/music/work/debauchery and am about to head home myself, when a call to a friend lands me at Winnie's, a karoeke bar in Chinatown, to celebrate a gay friend of a friend's birthday. Now one thing I can say for my gay friends, they (and the fag hag musical theater women who love them) know how to sing much better than the straights in the bar.
But maybe (just maybe) it's just that the straight people at Winnie's suck ass. After a particular guy's wretched renditions make me want to break my bottle of tsing tao over the table and slice my own throat, I slip the song wench a bribe of three whole dollars and jump to the front of the queue. It's time to show everyone that a straight man can sing.
So I step up, but just in case (I'm still pretty sober), I get my own gay men's chorus (including the ringer, the birthday boy, who can really carry a tune). But there's no real need, for I belt out "Sweet Home Alabama" like I'm straight out of Mobile. For a few moments, I owned that tune.
Having come what I set out to do, I hug everyone and leave. "Good night, New York!"
posted by Unknown at 4:15 AM
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