I could be wrong, but I think someone went and told the plants in my neighborhood that Spring is icumen in. I’ll go on record as thinking this is a good idea.
Last night’s reading of U Suck! at Rockwood Music Hall went pretty well. It was a first airing of the piece, so nothing got etched in stone, but I had a good time and so did Jess, who came down to defend the good name of the Lower East Side. Pierre seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. Given that he mostly hates plays and only comes out because I’m in them now and then, that passes for entertainment.
For my part, there’s something in me that loves a chance to bellow out inappropriate epithets in public (“you fucking dildoic morons!”) without getting kicked out of the bar. Not sure what it is, but it smells like bacon. It looks like we’ll have a chance to do the show again and refine some points, and since the cast and the piece are both fun I’m hoping it keeps on going until it’s time to stop.
Ken the Publican’s Mom was in attendance, and suggested that perhaps I had cursed a little much. I favored hanging out at Rockwood for the post-show Festivities, but that would have involved hollering through the sets of the musicians up next, which is fucking dildoic moron rude. We were wedged into a booth at nearby One and One and had a raft of drinks on the table before they told us that the kitchen there was closed for renovations, or lack of interest, I didn’t catch which; hours later I had the tripod out and was taking low-light night pictures of passing cars on Allen Street. It was that kind of night.