I went to the Alana Davis show last night. John Harris had us on the list cause she is his cousin. I was blown away by her stage presence, singing, guitar playing. She is an immense talent. Wish I could have met her but the timing was off. What do you say to someone famous anyway? "Gee I really like your stuff?" Her fan base is a little strange. John told me that at the Chicago show he had to fend off a 45 year old guy who drove from New York to give Alana a mug with a kitten on it. That gives me the creeps, as it must give her the creeps. So the evening ended almost in a disaster. I got out of the cab (I know, I know, another $20 down the drain) and realized that I left my keys at work. Here its 1:30 in the morning and for once my building is quiet as a cathedral. Couldn't get in via the roof, unless I wanted to perform some dangerous acrobatics; not recommended with the amount of Coronas I had in my belly. I ended up knocking on the door of the apartment downstairs and the sleepy girl who answered let me go out their window and up the fire escape. Thank god Becky didn't lock the window.So now I have a hangover and I have to go to Long Island. Blah.

So I had to go to small claims court last night to represent the City against it's people. The City is so tight with a dollar. They towed my car away yesterday for unpaid parking tickets and the next day I was arguing with a judge why we shouldn't have to pay some school kid $$$ for his jacket that got stolen at his school. Yuck. This job sucks sometimes. I don't want my car back, really. Since I moved back to Manhattan last October its been broken into 5 times. Everything in the trunk stolen as well as 2 radios. And I have to move it across the street every day so I don't get more tickets. And last week someone rammed into it when it was parked and the next day the Marshall towed it away.
I went out after court and got drunk at the Tribeca Tavern. Sal, the owner is the spitting image of Tony Soprano and he has a bartender with fake everything including her tits and motorcycle tattoos that is straight outta the bada bing. Its an amusing little place because its the only "dive" bar left in Tribeca. Everything is divey except the price of the beer, which fits neighborhood standards. It can be a little depressing because the crowd is a New York crowd and the place has a bad old man dying drunk vibe to it. Dave and I screwed off the Rocky Sullivans after that for Quizzo. Then to Curry in a Hurry for decent Indian. It was a usual night except that at quizzo the answer to the question "what is the largest living thing" was wrong. The Irish guy on the mike said it was a California redwood but everyone knows its a giant fungus somewhere in France.
So tonite John Harris has put me on the guest list of the Alana Davis show so I guess I'll head over there after Edgar's going away party. Such the social butterfly these days.Well, I have to go eat but I have no idea what to eat.