BEING SICK SUCKS
It really sucks the motivation that I barely already have right the hell outta me. Here I am, just mindin' me own ps and qs, when I feel that old familiar and really annoying tickle in my throat. It starts as a little shimmy and turns into a full blown ugghhhh. Next thing I know, I'm lying in bed in a pair of jogging pants like some commoner.
I got invited to take part in what sounded like a really fun and amazing photo shoot yesterday (Sat) out at Coney Island, including a brunch meet and greet and EVERYTHING. I had been looking forward to it all week, but when I woke up on Saturday morning and looked at my pasty, shacked looking face in the morning, I knew there was no way Swinie and I were going to be able to make it. Do I have the swine flu? I dunno. I doubt it. I feel like hell on a cracker, but I don't feel unable to function. I can still sing a dirty ditty if need be.
Which is exactly what I did last night.
Though I had to cancel out on the photo shoot because I know when my face is in photo mode and when it's not, and I don't need no more bad photos out there floating around, after all, I AM a performer, I had no intention of cancelling the shows I had booked for the evening. That's one of the reasons I cancelled the shoot -- was so that I would have energy for the shows.
So I stayed in my apartment, pattering around in slippers and sipping diet coke all day and chewing those nasty zycam now and later knock offs, and I even briefly met up with a friend in the park for an hour of fresh air and writing.
Around 8, I started to get ready for my first show. It was called "Monkey Wrench" and took place at Gotham Improv. I dolled myself as best I could with clear goo spurting out of at least one facial orifice, grabbed my pink ukulele to distract people from my hideous sick face and hopped onto my bicycle. Unless my legs are detached, riding my bike is the way to get from point A to point B. Since I was wearing a pink glittery ball gown and gold heels, I got lots of whistles and hey babies, which I'm used to, but I could have been wearing one roller skate, one flip flop, jogging pants and a stained cardigan and the whistlers and hey baby-ers would still be out in full force. They see hair and lips and start flipping out like zoo animals. Any woman in NYC, regardless of looks, need only step outside to have her esteem raised by the masses of horny, standard-less, vocally fearless men constantly seeming to be endlessly roaming the streets in search of boobies to ogle.
The show was nice -- not super packed but there was a sweet, attentive audience in a great space. The acts that went on all had their strengths. I was backstage for most of the show, dabbing my face with a goober collector and making a large attempt to not interact too intensely with any other potential germ hosts, so I could only hear the show and not see it. After my set, I went into the audience, sat far away from other people and watched the last act. After the show, people tried to shake my hand and get friendly but I kept a fair distance and did no hand shaking. To help rid the planet of this deadly body shaker!
It was raining when I came outside and I was cold, so I forced myself onto the subway, leaving my beloved bike behind. I went home to collect a few things and went back out into the night for show # 2 in Dumbo. I paid for my subway ticket and went into the subway. After standing on the platform for about 30 minutes, the train voice guy said there would be no downtown F train due to police activity. So I took a taxi to the box truck convention -- one of the funnest shows I've done in a long time. It was a caravan of box trucks parked along a bright hidden alley in Dumbo. Each truck had something cool going on in it -- a twister truck, a jazz truck, a tea truck, a talk show truck. I entered the talk show truck and had a terrific time entertaining a very captive audience of truck-a-teers.
I walked home in the rain (my umbrella didn't do much to keep the drops off me) feeling the sickness inside of me behaving like a room full of kids with a substitute teacher, took the F train back to where it drops me off nearly in front of my home, and went immediately to bed.
There's my Saturday night in a very large nut shell.
Today I will stay inside since it's raining. I might jog up to 21st street to get my bike if I feel like kicking ass. Tonight I have a show at 308 Bowery -- Match Game, hosted by Ben Lerman. It's always a fun show, and I apologize in advance cyberly to anyone who may be within 4 feet of me. But I'm not sooo sick, I'm not coughing or hacking or sneezing, just seeping. So don't touch me to try to make out with me, if you know what's good for you.