pitching and catching

last night was the second of two performances of scott and tim's cabaret, bloom. and, unlike saturday's show, it was a full house, raucous and friendly and drunk. just the way i like 'em. amanda, hilary, and nakia all came to see the show, and my friend andrea even brought her boyfriend. "if it's going to be a pain to come," i told her when she called yesterday, "don't worry about it. seriously. it's like 8 bucks with a two drink minimum and i only sing one song." "well," she said, "are you happy with your performance?" "yes," i told her. "then i'm coming," she said. and she did. with her boyfriend, who i've met once.

i did feel a little guilty, dragging my roommates and friends to the west village until 11 at night when we all work early. not least because it turned into a twenty-dollar evening for all of them. then again, we needed whatever kind of crowd we could drum up, so i appreciated their support. as hilary told me, "it was my new york debut." which is true, even though it was really laid-back and fun. it was a little bit like really glorified karaoke, where the whole audience is friends or friends of friends and they all want you to succeed.

when it comes to some of scott's songs, especially the ones this girl shanna (who blows her tits off every time she sings. it's great.) sang, i don't understand why they haven't been picked up by some pop producer yet. if scotty could just sell like, um, two songs that were hits he'd be set for the next ten years, could do nothing but live and write music and make it as a composer. his songs, honestly, are better than most of the shit that's out there on the radio. nay, all the shit that's out there on the radio. though i can't honestly say i've listened to anything except NPR for at least five years. yep, i'm a dork.

it's a rainy, wretched day here in new york. it's not pouring, thank god, but it's cloudy and raining enough to make my 30-minute commute to work take a full hour. and of course i was dripping sweat when i finally walked in the door, late. and i have to leave a little early, again, because the people from michael lucas called again and wanted me to do this photo shoot for some magazine ad. hustler? maybe. jugs? i hope. but probably something more along the lines of, i don't know, inches. the point is, the casting director called yesterday to get my clothing sizes (because YES, people, i'm going to be wearing clothes) because we're supposed to pretend to be baseball players. like, um, jerseys and shit. baseball hats. BAAAAAAAAAAAAHA!

something about me: i look like enough of a homo in my every day clothes. you put me in a sporting uniform of any kind--be it fencing, baseball, or croquet--and i look 569% skinnier and gayer. so next time you crack open the latest issue of honcho, look for me. i'll be the skinny hairy jew in the baseball uniform.

and i'm absolutely sure the ad's going to have something to do with "pitching" and "catching." god have mercy on my soul.