It’s Wednesday night, er, Thursday morning. And I’m braggin’.
Everything’s in place for tomorrow, er, tonight’s show. Well, mostly. I discovered yesterday that the neck was peeling away from the body of my Martin acoustic guitar, I switched to Plan B: John Rosenblatt to the rescue. After a twelve hour day at The MTV, and two hours rehearsing a 20-minute set (over and over and over and over) with Cockfight, I hopped the 2/3 to 96th Street. In exchange for a place on the guest list (plus one) and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s vanilla frozen yogurt, John loaned me his Taylor.
So the band is rehearsed (wait ’til you hear how amazing Julia and Todd sound). The postcards are out. The emails are send. The slide show is prepped. The set is list, um, set. The car service is reserved. And all that left to do is get the wine, cheese, plastic glasses, merchandise, and, well, myself, to The Open Center at 83 Spring Street (just east of Broadway) by 6:30. Casey Shea hits the stage at 7:30, Siobahn at 8:00, and Julia, Todd and myself at 8:30. Sixteen songs later — seventeen if ya’ll make enough racket to prompt my just-learned encore — and it’ll all be over. And it’ll all be good.
But questions remain:
Will I catch the moon like a bird in a cage? Will I set the sun on a big wheeled wagon?