Next thing's next.

There was a man in a fedora and thick-rimmed glasses clutching his acoustic guitar close to his white-shirted chest, a harmonica wrapped against his neck. When Joyce and I walked in we weren't sure what to expect - but we certainly didn't expect this: a thirty-foot room (maybe) with the tiniest version of a wooden stage and a man on a chair playing his heart out. I hoped the tiny part of his foot that nearly dangled off that makeshift centerstage wouldn't steal his balance. There were maybe six other people in the room, scattered in chairs that leaned up against the wall. It was dark. The brick was old, one part eaten away into a cave. There was no microphone. I wasn't sure what to think, but I soon decided that I loved it. The Postcrypt at Columbia University. I've already shot off an e-mail to the booker, after talking to a bunch of the organizers there. I hope I can get a slot... apparently there's a lot of demand to play in that acoustic place. I have a feeling it's the uniqueness that really gets people. Imagine that. A place to play in Manhattan that doesn't involved fumbling around with quarter inch cables. I think deep inside most singer-songwriters imagine this is the best kind of place to play. Those microphones are hindering, the monitors almost always lie and that sense of officiality almost takes away from that honesty we constantly long to deliver to the audience, in every sense of the term.

But we can't just invite people to our living rooms on a daily basis. Hence, I imagine, the Postcrypt was born. It's probably smaller than many living rooms... outside of Manhattan. 

Anyway, Tom Stall I think was the name of the performer, and I picked up a CD from him and suggested he play Sidewalk, since he'd mentioned he couldn't find a place in the city that didn't require a minimum draw. 

Mana met us halfway through, and we eventually made our way downtown to La Lanterna, where we absorbed some jazz from a quartet playing in the basement. The crowd was older but we didn't mind. I sipped my prosecco and wondered what it was about jazz that made people want to get so immersed in it. The group was decent - not the best - but they were very positive and laughed a lot between tunes. 

After that we made our way to the Dove Bar, which I haven't been to in a while. I was raving about it to the girls - about the decor, the vibe, the sophistication. Of course, the moment we walked in we were hit with a noxious wave of body heat, sweat, cologne and alcohol, and then hit with the packed crowd that covered up all the good stuff I'd just gushed about. Secret's out, huh? It'd been a while since I'd been there.

At some point I went to the bathroom and came back to find Mana and Joyce getting tag-teamed by a wing and his wingman.. it was pretty comical, until I got bored. Then some guy noticed that I was looking uncomfortable and started a conversation with me. He was fun to talk to though, and he didn't ask for my number afterwards... which was good. Though I did wonder if I should take that as an insult. ;)  

Now I'm home... and avoiding sleep.  Ah yes.... the luxury.

P.S.: Joyce reminded me on the ride home that I have a wonderful boyfriend. And that I should never forget that... sigh. She should join the Yahoo group. :)