Thursday night. I leave the comforts of my shoebox apartment for a gig in the Bowery, interviewing a cool, new Cuban timba band, La Bolá. I'm not too keen on the Lower East Side- nothing personal, just not for me, but work calls so I go a-running.At first, on the train ride over I'm all comfy in my seat, rocking out to Ciara on Minerva's iPod (hey gurl!! that's right! I'm using your shyt!!) when it hits me that maybe, just maybe, I might want to prepare some questions. You know, like a real reporter would.
I brainstormed- what could I ask the bandleader that would not reek of a page out of Interviewing for Dummies, and I think I came up with a pretty good mix. I mean, I'm the nosiest person I know. This job is perfect for me.
When I get there (after a tiny train mix-up and a $2 coat check) and meet with the dude, he says to the woman at the door, "Let her in. She's a journalist here to interview me." Journalist. Me.
I suppose that means I can't tell him what a cutie he is?
He grabs a beer, I pull out my dorky note pad and tape recorder, and we begin. A solid 20 minutes of good shit, folks. I'm not making this up. Me. I did this.
Then I let him go prep for the first set and wouldn't you know it? I know the DJ spinning at the club! We went to college together, but we weren't friends or anything, just had mutual friends, so I don't say anything to him.
But later when the band is performing and he leaves the booth, we exchange pleasantries; he's a fellow Domini-CAN from BK. He gives me his card (for a possible interview later on) and then I remember that I had heard he was a DJ and artist, and that his sculptures were featured at El Museo del Barrio in the fall...nice stuff, too. Small world!
So the band was awesome, the crowd was loving it, the lead singer hit on me (everywhere I go, man...), I reconnected with an old acquaintence and I really enjoyed my new label.
Observations from the evening:
Old man with the beer: Your belly is too BIG. You look 6mos pregnant. Maybe you should lay off the beer?
Guy at the door: Yeah, I'm gonna need your phone number...for professional reasons, of course...
Awww shit! Check out the white boy shakin' his bon-bon!!!
Couple at the bar: GET A ROOM!
Couple on the dance floor: DAMN! Ya'll put everyone else to shame with your smooth moves...OMG, did he just DIP HER?? I'm jealous!
Girl by the couches: Bedazzled, Lycra/spandex bell-bottoms? Really? That's the outfit you're gonna go with? Okay...
Best part of the night:
NO COVER CHARGE, BI-ATCH!! Cuz I'm with the band!
All in all it was a good night, and I can't wait to reap the financial benefits of this interview...
Maybe I'll be able to afford a pack of those newfangled, highfalutin energy-saving light bulbs Laura loves so much...
*smooches...LIVE, from Crash Mansion*
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i had to leave the house of conformity
in order to make art
i had to be more or less true
to learn to tell the two apart
and i had to leave the house of fear
just about as soon as i could crawl
ignore my face on the wanted posters
stuck to the post office wall
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