Now THAT was a tremendous concert.
Last night. Cher. AND Cyndi Lauper. Playing together at Madison Square Garden. ArtStudent (my fabulously fashionable roommate) and I, all decked out and coiffed and prettified, descended upon the Garden along with a tremendous number of fellow New York homos. I can hardly believe that someone just GAVE me two free tickets.
Too bad, then, that the tickets I had were not, in fact, for the Cher/Cyndi concert, but rather, for "Fruit Salad! A Queer Mix of Comedy!" that was playing in the mini-theatre just outside the main amphitheatre. We could hear Cher's bass pumping through the walls. ArtStudent, me, and a passel of old gay people. All of the comedians congratulated the crowd on being the only gay people in the city NOT seeing Cher at that moment -- and to be honest, I really wished they would stop rubbing it in. I would not have minded one teeny tiny bit, had I been at home. But knowing that I was THAT CLOSE, and not in actual attendance, was more than a little aggravating.
By the way: the mini-theatre at Madison Square Garden is so 80s nightclub, it is almost not funny. Glittery curtains, bad music, faux-deco. It was so much a scene in a movie. We even had this lovely uncomfortable moment where some guy who was there by himself asked if he could sit at our table. When there were several empty tables right next to us. Just so it would not look like he was there alone. The poor dear tried to start up conversation a few times before the show started, but ArtStudent and I can be remarkably insular. He never really had a chance.
Afterwards, ArtStudent flitted home in a cab, and I ventured uptown for a date/rendezvous of the kind that means I am wearing last night's going-out-clothes at work today. Thankfully, I took yesterday off, so I'm not repeating an outfit two days in a row. I almost had to do that once before, several months ago, but the intercession of an emergency pre-work trip to J. Crew and one tangeriney/rusty/salmony button-up shirt later, I felt sufficiently disguised. The irony of this situation is that I do not have my satchel with me. For those of you unaware, my satchel regularly contains cologne, deodorant, Carmex, hair wax, liquid silver glitter -- in short, any products I might need in a pinch to make myself presentable to the outside world. (Okay, the silver glitter is not really necessary to achieve this end -- but you might be amazed at how often it comes in handy.) The first time this little Survival Kit would have been particularly useful, and where is it? At home, of course. Lovely.
(p.s. YES, I said satchel. Messenger bag, HA!)