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My Head I did NOT need to drink four large Manhattans last night after rehearsal. (We went to Michael's on Broadway, where the service was lovely, and Michael himself came over and chatted with us while we were watching the finale of The Apprentice (not my choice, but I did find it amusing). I had a wonderful burger and some mediocre fries to go with my drinks (and these were NOT, for record, served in prissy-sissy martini glasses, but in serious ones, like mine), and I drunkenly wished Yves, our very classy and totally old-school waiter, a happy Christmas and a joyous New Year in French, which clearly pleasantly surprised him. It also caught everybody else at the table off-guard, as people around here are largely unaware that I lived in France -- Paris, even -- for a spell.) Somehow, though, I felt remarkably sober on the subway ride home, bopping along to Natalie Douglas's new CD, To Nina...Live at Birdland on which she performs a set of songs Nina Simone used to do, not attempting to emulate Nina's sound or even to copy her ornaments and riffs, but rather, just performing the songs as her very talented self in a tribute to Nina's skill, style and story-telling. Already, I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing her sing "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free", backed by a phenomenally talented band including Steve Doyle, Sean McDaniel, Patience Higgins and Mark Hartman (the last two of whom play in the pit of Avenue Q, among other places -- Mark sometimes comes into Brandy's (The website hasn't been updated in years.) on Tuesday nights and plays a few tunes while I'm on break (he's brilliant). Last time, he sang Noel Coward's "If Love Were All" for me and nearly made me cry). (In the interest of full disclosure, I should note that I work regularly with Natalie, but it is, objectively, a great pleasure and a privilege, so I have no qualms about praising her recording.) Anyway, I got home, sent a few e-mails, fell asleep on the living-room floor, got up, stumbled to bed, slept 'til the alarm went off this morning and woke with a terribly heavy head. "La gueule de bois," indeed, you terribly clever French people! And the subway was hot and crowded this morning, and I thought I was going to puke, pass out or die on my way down here, and I wanted to kill the ass-clown next to me who was wearing a big puffy coat and sitting in such a way as to take up as much space as humanly possible, and I thought the ride would last forever, but I'm here, and I'm mostly alright, and I'm going to focus on examining corporate documents for the rest of the day. Yeah. By the way, if you're a New Yorker and you hate the subway as much as I do (actually, I only hate the A train, which I have to ride at least twice daily, and if you examine its statistics at the link I'm about to post, you'll understand why and feel that I'm justified -- WHY did I have to live all the way up at the fucking North Pole of Manhattan?!), you, too can go to http://www.straphangers.org and check out how YOUR subway line measures up, read other people's MTA horror stories, and find out to whom and how you can most effectively complain about how woefully inadequate and shamefully (perhaps criminally...I'd REALLY like to get my hands on their financials) ill-managed the public transport system in this city is for the number of people who live here and must rely on it to live their daily lives. "Rise up in the cafeteria and stab them with your plastic [sporks]!" In other news, if you're in the New York area, you should find yourself at The Orange Bear (47 Murray St.) this evening to catch The Shivery, formerly known as Shivery Delicious (there's still some great stuff there). Lead-singer and song-writer Siobhan is the kind of performer who always makes me either grin like the Cheshire Cat when he's stoned...except when she's putting that knot in my throat that tries to make me cry, and rumour has it a certain DJRainDog might start playing keys and whatever other machinery might present itself with them soon...Ca se verra... r
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