5-5-02
Hidy. Been here nearly a week & I'm still twanging. It ain't gonna quit, I'll just have to make it my schtick. I'll be the Jeff Foxworthy of New York. Except maybe talented instead. D'oh!
Working for Tempy Temps, a music-industry temp service in this little nicotine-coated office where a fat, white-haired, Brooklyn-accented old lady smokes thin brown Marlboros in your face and tells you how there's no money in music, but here's a job, kid.
They've apparently been doing this for freakin' ever, & Friday I worked for a publicity company who's in charge of press for Ozzy Osbourne & Aerosmith, among others. The owner is apparently an old crony/protege of Andy Warhol, & it's pretty damned obvious. Weird, I'm telling you. But I was only filling in for their intern Friday, making press kits & reading magazines to find mentions of their clients. Not bad work, but I did get treated like an intern, which ain't that hot.
Monday I start a long-term data entry gig at Royalties R Us, who does music licensing permissions for pretty damn near everyone whose name you would ever recognize. I was going to have to call them about licensing my Phil Collins cover anyway. Now I'll be in the damn building, so convenience is mine. Tempy Temps says it's a pretty boring gig, but I'll wager they've never sat in a cubicle looking out at the plywood-encrusted Bank One tower in Fort Worth, staring blankly at transaction spreadsheets as if they are somehow supposed to be saying something other than "YOUR LIFE IS CRAP, MATTHEW OF WEATHERFORD. FIND A HOLE AND BURY YOUR ASS IN IT SO THE GRAVEDIGGERS CAN GO HOME EARLY. YOU HEARD ME, GO!"
But we shall see. Right now I'm listening to Rockin' the Suburbs and chillin' with a big glass of Brooklyn water (not as good as Tarrant County water, but better than Boyd water), and digesting some damned good Sesame Chicken. We stopped at a Chinese restaurant on the way back from a trip to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, where we watched the sun set over Manhattan. Best fucking view in town, man. Next $800,000 I get, I'm buying an apartment there.
I am apparently a bigger freak than I ever realized. People in our neighborhood WILL NOT stop staring at me like I've got fucking Klingon forehead ridges or something. What the FUCK? Of course, I haven't seen any other six-foot-four white men walking the streets of Sunset Park, so maybe I can excuse them. Hispanic folk are generally a diminuitive people, and they're in charge here. Or I guess they are. I get the feeling that if I were to suddenly say, "BOO!", they'd scurry behind their tamale stands in fear. Not for long, though.
I haven't felt very threatened, though. Everyone's very friendly, just wide-eyed. Though there's a bit too much razor-wire to suit me. I'll be happy when we can find a safer haven. Good ol' white flight. We found some really good apartment deals on sublet.com, & we're probably aiming for Manhattan after all. East Village, most likely. Bigass artist community.
Matter of fact, I played an open mic there Wednesday night. Little neighborhood bar called The Raven. Still a lot of iffy performances, but a much higher ratio of good to bad than will be found at the ol' Winedale, I'll warrant ye. I got a good response, tried out Union Station on 'em & got away with it. A rapper who was on a little after me patted me on the back later in the evening, so I guess my sarcasm came through. Unless that's the death mark or something. I'm such a fucking honky.
But it's a much bigger pond, I must say. At DFW open mics, I'm usually the best or next-best thing on the menu, but here I was one of several more who got a big hand, so I've got my work cut out for me. For one thing, I'm not a hot chick. Coupla beautiful young things got much more enthusiastic ovations, dontcha know. But we all know about that.
I've determined what the best thing about NYC is, though. It's that when you see a beautiful woman (and I mean a beautiful woman), you don't have to follow her ass for a while because you don't know when you'll see another one that nice. Wait a minute and there's one even better. It's amazing. Makes life goooood.
That's all from the New York front. Contact is on, & I gotta watch it for the 800th time.
