Thanks to all those who turned out on Sunday night for our performance at the Bazaar Cafe! For those of you who couldn't make it, here's a little snippet of the set:
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!
I'm going to be singing with Vernon Bush on Sunday night at the Bazaar Cafe!
THE BAZAAR CAFE
5927 CALIFORNIA ST. (Bet 21st & 22nd sts.)
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
415 / 831-5620
Sunday, March 29th
6:30 - 9 PM
No cover
Vernon performs AGAIN in this wonderful intimate cafe setting, singing some of his new inspiring material in addition to his signature sing along sets. You're sure to be inspired!! Please stop on by!!
5927 CALIFORNIA ST. (Bet 21st & 22nd sts.)
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
415 / 831-5620
Sunday, March 29th
6:30 - 9 PM
No cover
Vernon performs AGAIN in this wonderful intimate cafe setting, singing some of his new inspiring material in addition to his signature sing along sets. You're sure to be inspired!! Please stop on by!!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Speak Out!
Last week I went to Speak Out! at Glide.
Speak Out! happens every Wednesday. It's an open mic forum that gives the people of the neighborhood a chance to step up and speak their mind. People use it as an opportunity to check in, make community announcements, read poetry, or simply tell their story. Given Glide's location in the Tenderloin, a lot of the folks who come to Speak Out! are from the streets or the shelters. Many are addicts or recovering addicts, victims or former perpetrators of abuse. Some are on their way up. Some are still going down. Most are just looking for a handhold, something secure to grip, to help them through their day. That's why I was there.
I used to go to Prayer Circle on Wednesday nights, but over the years the group dwindled and eventually disappeared. For awhile I reveled in the extra free time, but after a few months I began to feel a bit spiritually deficient. You'd think that 5 or 6 hours of church per week would be enough, what with choir rehearsals and services, but it wasn't. I found that I was missing that personal connection that I'd forged with the members of my Prayer Circle. I missed hearing people's stories; I didn't know how much they'd sustained me.
So when I started feeling adrift a few weeks ago, I decided to check out Speak Out! I thought a little spiritual grounding might be in order.
The room was full; they actually had to add several more rows of seating. I spotted an empty chair and made a grab for it. I was smack in the middle, between two men whose mingled scents were a bit of an assault on my olfactory system. I thought about moving but I desperately did not want to be rude. (Although come 45 minutes into the hour I was feeling a little nauseous and second-guessing my decision.)
I have to pause for a minute...Just writing that makes me feel snobby and privileged, but that's how it was. The room was ripe.
I soon realized that the man on my left was hearing voices in his head. "Stand up! No! Sit down!" he muttered, alternately nodding and shaking his head. He made as though to stand, then wrapped his arms around his body and pushed himself back in his seat. "Okay, okay," he said to himself reassuringly. "It's okay. It's okay."
I remembered that comedy sketch (although I forget the comedian) about the guy walking down the street talking to himself, whom everybody thinks is crazy, but it turns out he's really talking to God. I decided the man on my left was okay with me.
The man on my right was eating a donut. There were a few boxes of donuts to tide people over until dinner was served at the end of the hour. Every day Glide serves breakfast, lunch and dinner to anyone who's hungry, and Speak Out coincides with the dinner hour, so they serve those folks specially at the end of the session. The man on my right was hungry. He ate two donuts while he waited for dinner to be served.
I was reminded of what a blessing it is not to be hungry.
And as though to underline that thought, a man walked up to the microphone and began talking about food.
"I wanna say thank you for Glide, for the breakfast program," he said. "It's so important. We can't wait for Saint Anthony's to open at 11:30. I'm gonna commit a crime if I have to wait until 11:30 to eat. That's too late. People don't know how this food program is cutting down on crime. I have a friend who said to me, 'I missed dinner. Guess I'm gonna go do what I have to do.' People gonna do what they have to do to get fed."
A woman came up to the microphone and said she was graduating from her rehab program. The room erupted with applause.
"I'm going to miss San Francisco," she said. "I'm going to miss Glide church. I just want to thank everybody for accepting me and feeding me...It's good to have folks to talk to. It's good to not be scared no more. I did a lot of stuff I didn't want to do. I did prostitution. I been beat up, you know. I seen a lot of bad parts of this city. But this city's been good to me too; I learned a lot here. I made friends. Now I'm going to go and I'm sad to go, but I thank you all for being here for me."
The next person rolled up to the mic in a wheelchair.
"I just want to invite everyone to a community meeting at the police headquarters next week. The San Francisco Chief of Police is leaving, and this is our chance to speak up about the kind of person that we want to replace her. This is a chance for the community to be heard, so please come and speak out."
We applauded after each person spoke, no matter what they said. One woman gave a little sermon on the topic of forgiveness. A man read a poem about the strength of a black man. Another man announced that his daughter was the first person in their family to go to college. Several times people walked up to the mic, introduced themselves and simply said, "I want to say thank you." Then they sat back down.
The faces in that room were mostly different faces than the ones I know from upstairs. Although Sunday services are open to everybody, I realized that not everyone who comes to Glide comes for the Celebrations. It was a different community downstairs.
And what impressed me was that Janice, Glide's founding president, knew everybody's name.
"Where's Magnolia?" she asked, looking around. "We haven't heard from her in awhile. Oh, Curtis! Come up here, Curtis! Come say a few words."
Jan, in her impeccable outfit and high heels, was at home down in the basement with the folks from the food line. And they loved her. I've long admired Jan, but I felt my respect for her surge in that moment: How many women do you know who can straddle two worlds in a pencil skirt?
A young man walked up to the microphone. He was part of a group from the nearby American Conservatory Theater. They've been writing theatrical pieces based on their experiences at Glide and plan to put on a performance for Glide folks next month.
"I wrote a poem about the food line," he said seriously. "It's a metaphor." His gaze traveled around the room before he opened his mouth to speak.
Speak Out! happens every Wednesday. It's an open mic forum that gives the people of the neighborhood a chance to step up and speak their mind. People use it as an opportunity to check in, make community announcements, read poetry, or simply tell their story. Given Glide's location in the Tenderloin, a lot of the folks who come to Speak Out! are from the streets or the shelters. Many are addicts or recovering addicts, victims or former perpetrators of abuse. Some are on their way up. Some are still going down. Most are just looking for a handhold, something secure to grip, to help them through their day. That's why I was there.
I used to go to Prayer Circle on Wednesday nights, but over the years the group dwindled and eventually disappeared. For awhile I reveled in the extra free time, but after a few months I began to feel a bit spiritually deficient. You'd think that 5 or 6 hours of church per week would be enough, what with choir rehearsals and services, but it wasn't. I found that I was missing that personal connection that I'd forged with the members of my Prayer Circle. I missed hearing people's stories; I didn't know how much they'd sustained me.
So when I started feeling adrift a few weeks ago, I decided to check out Speak Out! I thought a little spiritual grounding might be in order.
The room was full; they actually had to add several more rows of seating. I spotted an empty chair and made a grab for it. I was smack in the middle, between two men whose mingled scents were a bit of an assault on my olfactory system. I thought about moving but I desperately did not want to be rude. (Although come 45 minutes into the hour I was feeling a little nauseous and second-guessing my decision.)
I have to pause for a minute...Just writing that makes me feel snobby and privileged, but that's how it was. The room was ripe.
I soon realized that the man on my left was hearing voices in his head. "Stand up! No! Sit down!" he muttered, alternately nodding and shaking his head. He made as though to stand, then wrapped his arms around his body and pushed himself back in his seat. "Okay, okay," he said to himself reassuringly. "It's okay. It's okay."
I remembered that comedy sketch (although I forget the comedian) about the guy walking down the street talking to himself, whom everybody thinks is crazy, but it turns out he's really talking to God. I decided the man on my left was okay with me.
The man on my right was eating a donut. There were a few boxes of donuts to tide people over until dinner was served at the end of the hour. Every day Glide serves breakfast, lunch and dinner to anyone who's hungry, and Speak Out coincides with the dinner hour, so they serve those folks specially at the end of the session. The man on my right was hungry. He ate two donuts while he waited for dinner to be served.
I was reminded of what a blessing it is not to be hungry.
And as though to underline that thought, a man walked up to the microphone and began talking about food.
"I wanna say thank you for Glide, for the breakfast program," he said. "It's so important. We can't wait for Saint Anthony's to open at 11:30. I'm gonna commit a crime if I have to wait until 11:30 to eat. That's too late. People don't know how this food program is cutting down on crime. I have a friend who said to me, 'I missed dinner. Guess I'm gonna go do what I have to do.' People gonna do what they have to do to get fed."
A woman came up to the microphone and said she was graduating from her rehab program. The room erupted with applause.
"I'm going to miss San Francisco," she said. "I'm going to miss Glide church. I just want to thank everybody for accepting me and feeding me...It's good to have folks to talk to. It's good to not be scared no more. I did a lot of stuff I didn't want to do. I did prostitution. I been beat up, you know. I seen a lot of bad parts of this city. But this city's been good to me too; I learned a lot here. I made friends. Now I'm going to go and I'm sad to go, but I thank you all for being here for me."
The next person rolled up to the mic in a wheelchair.
"I just want to invite everyone to a community meeting at the police headquarters next week. The San Francisco Chief of Police is leaving, and this is our chance to speak up about the kind of person that we want to replace her. This is a chance for the community to be heard, so please come and speak out."
We applauded after each person spoke, no matter what they said. One woman gave a little sermon on the topic of forgiveness. A man read a poem about the strength of a black man. Another man announced that his daughter was the first person in their family to go to college. Several times people walked up to the mic, introduced themselves and simply said, "I want to say thank you." Then they sat back down.
The faces in that room were mostly different faces than the ones I know from upstairs. Although Sunday services are open to everybody, I realized that not everyone who comes to Glide comes for the Celebrations. It was a different community downstairs.
And what impressed me was that Janice, Glide's founding president, knew everybody's name.
"Where's Magnolia?" she asked, looking around. "We haven't heard from her in awhile. Oh, Curtis! Come up here, Curtis! Come say a few words."
Jan, in her impeccable outfit and high heels, was at home down in the basement with the folks from the food line. And they loved her. I've long admired Jan, but I felt my respect for her surge in that moment: How many women do you know who can straddle two worlds in a pencil skirt?
A young man walked up to the microphone. He was part of a group from the nearby American Conservatory Theater. They've been writing theatrical pieces based on their experiences at Glide and plan to put on a performance for Glide folks next month.
"I wrote a poem about the food line," he said seriously. "It's a metaphor." His gaze traveled around the room before he opened his mouth to speak.
I am in line to eat.
He paused, purposefully.
I am last in line to eat so I can step out of line and I won't lose my spot.
I can step over here.
Hey you, look at me, can you stand here?
I'm free.
You are only two people in front of me, and you are stuck.
Stuck in that line.
I'm sitting on this car.
I can step over here.
He paused again and I stifled a giggle. I wasn't sure yet if the poem was meant to be funny.
Hey you, look at me, can you stand here?
I'm free.
You are only two people in front of me, and you are stuck.
Stuck in that line.
A final pause. Then:
I'm sitting on this car.
That did it - I howled. I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. In just a few short lines this guy had managed to tell an entire story. I saw that scene unfold as though I'd been walking past it. Brilliant, I thought. Just brilliant.
Oh, the little jewels you can stumble across in the course of your day.
The hour was wrapping up, and we moved on to the raffle. Every week they raffle off a few bags of groceries, and this time one went to the man whose daughter had made it into college. Then Darius stood up to announce dinner.
Darius is a tall black man with a deep, rolling voice. He took up the microphone and smiled. He said:
"Speak Out! is good, isn't it?"
And I was touched by how true that was. Speak Out! is good. Aside from the food, the community and an hour inside away from the cold, Speak Out! is a forum. How often do you think people on the street get a chance to step up to a microphone and speak their piece? I know how important a forum has been for me. This blog allows me to speak my mind even when I've got nothing in particular to say. I have the opportunity to speak out every day. I've entitled this blog Finding My Voice because writing here is helping me to find my voice, as a writer and a singer, but most importantly as a person. And it's a privilege, this virtual soapbox. It's good.
Darius said, "Now, ya'll know how this works. It's handicapped first, women second, men last. And please throw your trash away cause I got to stay until this is all cleaned up. All right, your menu for the evening:
"Your meat is kielbasa.
"Your drink is juice.
"Your vegetables is vegetables." (That set me laughing all over again.)
"Your starch is potatoes."
Jan beckoned him and he bent his tall body in half so she could whisper in his ear. Upon straightening up he said,
"Oh yeah: kielbasa is a kind of fancy sausage.
"Now ya'll, let's eat."
I didn't stay for dinner. I climbed the steps upstairs, toward choir rehearsal. And as I left, I felt good. I felt lighter.
They call the basement Freedom Hall. There is something freeing about a room where you can speak your truth so baldly without fear of judgement. It is a clean feeling, even if you haven't had the opportunity to wash. It's a full feeling, because you're getting fed in more ways than one.
I am better for having been there. And I'll be going back.
Oh, the little jewels you can stumble across in the course of your day.
The hour was wrapping up, and we moved on to the raffle. Every week they raffle off a few bags of groceries, and this time one went to the man whose daughter had made it into college. Then Darius stood up to announce dinner.
Darius is a tall black man with a deep, rolling voice. He took up the microphone and smiled. He said:
"Speak Out! is good, isn't it?"
And I was touched by how true that was. Speak Out! is good. Aside from the food, the community and an hour inside away from the cold, Speak Out! is a forum. How often do you think people on the street get a chance to step up to a microphone and speak their piece? I know how important a forum has been for me. This blog allows me to speak my mind even when I've got nothing in particular to say. I have the opportunity to speak out every day. I've entitled this blog Finding My Voice because writing here is helping me to find my voice, as a writer and a singer, but most importantly as a person. And it's a privilege, this virtual soapbox. It's good.
Darius said, "Now, ya'll know how this works. It's handicapped first, women second, men last. And please throw your trash away cause I got to stay until this is all cleaned up. All right, your menu for the evening:
"Your meat is kielbasa.
"Your drink is juice.
"Your vegetables is vegetables." (That set me laughing all over again.)
"Your starch is potatoes."
Jan beckoned him and he bent his tall body in half so she could whisper in his ear. Upon straightening up he said,
"Oh yeah: kielbasa is a kind of fancy sausage.
"Now ya'll, let's eat."
I didn't stay for dinner. I climbed the steps upstairs, toward choir rehearsal. And as I left, I felt good. I felt lighter.
They call the basement Freedom Hall. There is something freeing about a room where you can speak your truth so baldly without fear of judgement. It is a clean feeling, even if you haven't had the opportunity to wash. It's a full feeling, because you're getting fed in more ways than one.
I am better for having been there. And I'll be going back.
(The poet in this post is Philip Martinson. The piece is reprinted with his permission.)
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Now don't freak out...
...but there are going to be some changes made to this blog format. My Web site is nearing completion (yay!) and my Web designer is going to style the blog to match the rest of the site. I just wanted to warn you, lest you land on my blog and think you're in the wrong place. These are authorized changes. Everything's going to be cool. Just don't, you know, freak out.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
To Get a Girl a Drink - A St. Patrick's Day Super-Limerick
This poem won me a contest a few years back. I thought I'd dust it off today in honor of St. Patrick's Day. I dedicate this piece to all those Erins (and Arins and Aarons and Errins) out there. To the Irish!
To Get a Girl A Drink
by Errin Marie
I tried to do Beckett's last year
(Heard tales of their wicked green beer)
Meself and me lasses
Would sit on our asses
And drink till the day disappeared
But by half past five there was no entry
'Twas a guard at the door standing sentry
'Twere too many packed in
And the terrible din
Was enough to send us round the bend(try)
The problem with St. Paddy's Day
Is there's too many folks in the way
You can't get a beer
'Less you scream in the ear
Of a barman who's walking away
It's too much to get their attention
Like last year; I thought I would mention
That 'Er(r)in's' with ID
Should all drink for free
It should be an Irish convention
But the barman could not hear a word!
I'm telling you, it was absurd
The place was a-teeming
With lads that were screaming
And pushing past me to be served
The sight of it! What a disgrace!
The eejits were running the place!
They'd not be so shady
To ignore a lady
Were not they all drunk off their face
With the end of the eve drawing near
I'd still only gotten one beer
Said 'Bollocks!' and left
And feeling bereft,
I vowed to do better next year
But next year has now come to pass
And I'm kicking meself for me sass
For how can I hope
To out-shout the blokes
When I'm nothing more than a lass?
There's got to be some way, methinks
For a gal to get herself some drinks
I mightn't have balls
But I've got the gall
To sex the thing up a few winks
So I've thought up a plan that is flawless!
To best all the lads acting lawless
For next year, you see
I plan to wear a tee
That proclaims me as "Errin Go Braugh-less"
by Errin Marie
I tried to do Beckett's last year
(Heard tales of their wicked green beer)
Meself and me lasses
Would sit on our asses
And drink till the day disappeared
But by half past five there was no entry
'Twas a guard at the door standing sentry
'Twere too many packed in
And the terrible din
Was enough to send us round the bend(try)
The problem with St. Paddy's Day
Is there's too many folks in the way
You can't get a beer
'Less you scream in the ear
Of a barman who's walking away
It's too much to get their attention
Like last year; I thought I would mention
That 'Er(r)in's' with ID
Should all drink for free
It should be an Irish convention
But the barman could not hear a word!
I'm telling you, it was absurd
The place was a-teeming
With lads that were screaming
And pushing past me to be served
The sight of it! What a disgrace!
The eejits were running the place!
They'd not be so shady
To ignore a lady
Were not they all drunk off their face
With the end of the eve drawing near
I'd still only gotten one beer
Said 'Bollocks!' and left
And feeling bereft,
I vowed to do better next year
But next year has now come to pass
And I'm kicking meself for me sass
For how can I hope
To out-shout the blokes
When I'm nothing more than a lass?
There's got to be some way, methinks
For a gal to get herself some drinks
I mightn't have balls
But I've got the gall
To sex the thing up a few winks
So I've thought up a plan that is flawless!
To best all the lads acting lawless
For next year, you see
I plan to wear a tee
That proclaims me as "Errin Go Braugh-less"
Friday, March 13, 2009
On the balls of my feet
I haven't been blogging much lately and I'm starting to feel kind of bad about that. I thought I'd explain to you why.
You see, a couple of weeks ago Monte unwittingly posed me a challenge. I think we were talking about how I should be kicking off my singing career. He said offhandedly, "You should release an album this year."
To which I responded, "That's ridiculous. You don't just release an album in a year. I'm ages away from that."
He shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation.
But you know, he got me thinking.
It doesn't have to be anything spectacular, I mused. I could just record something within the next year, just to get myself going. I mean, even if it's a crappy first effort, that wouldn't matter; at least it would be something. Surely I could manage that within a year, right?
So a few days later I announced to Monte that I would present him with a recording come Valentine's Day next year. It will be my gift to him.
I felt really good about that declaration! For about 24 hours. Then I realized I had no idea what to do next.
Meanwhile, my friend Jonah (the selfsame Jonah of blog entries past) emailed me: Hey, when are you going to send me some lyrics? For I had mentioned to Jonah that I know I can write lyrics, but I'm stumped about writing music. He plays guitar, and he graciously offered to help me pen a tune.
Oh, right! I responded. I've been meaning to get on that! I'll have them to you by next Friday.
And lo and behold, I did.
I sat down every day for a week and started churning out these lyrics that had been floating around in my head for ages. It was kind of frustrating because the song would only come out a little bit at a time. But after a solid week of work, I'd actually finished.
And I felt so good about that, I decided to complete a song every week! After all, I'd just proved to myself that it was only a matter of carving out the time! The songs are in there. I just have to draw them out.
The second piece was harder to come by than the first. Around Wednesday I got fed up and put it aside in favor of a third song. I finished neither that week, but resolved to wrap them both up by the end of Week 3.
Instead what happened was that Thursday of Week 3 found me stressed and depressed. I realized that I didn't really know what I was doing. I vaguely understood that I was working really hard in a manner that was not very productive, just spinning my wheels. And the unexpected side effect was that I had no interest in writing for my blog - in fact, I barely thought about it - because I was so wrapped up in these going-nowhere songs.
So I took a few days off. OK, more like a week. A week and half, tops. I got a pedicure.
And I started signing up for a lot of classes. Belly dancing. Zumba. Beginning Sewing. Swimming. Yoga. Songwriting. I pondered Ceramics but decided to hold off on that for awhile.
You're probably wondering why I would bother with anything other than the Songwriting class, but I was floundering. I know that I work better when I'm busy and I was trying to stimulate my brain creatively, even through an indirect approach. Plus, I want to make a wrap-around skirt to wear over my yoga and belly dance clothes. And when else am I going to have the time to do all this? I should be making the most of this time off!
Did that sound a little defensive? Maybe it was. Truthfully, in the back of my mind I wondered how Monte feels about supporting my creative whimsy. A few days later I found out.
"Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you've got enough drive for a singing career," he said to me the other night. "Do you want it bad enough? I want to see you succeed, but I can't support you indefinitely."
I waited for that to sting, but he'd only said what I'd been suspecting he felt.
"Let me ask you," I said, "Do you think I've got the talent for this?"
"There's no question of that," he replied. "Absolutely, I do."
"Okay," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "I don't know how to convince you that I have the desire and the drive to do this. Sometimes I fear that I don't have the necessary talent, but if you believe in me and my friends believe in me, then it's easier to believe in myself. I want to do this. I just don't know how. I am lost. I feel like I'm on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself forward, but I don't know which direction to go. When those doors open up in my head, when I figure out just what to do, I am ready to work so hard. I just don't know how to get started. I don't know what I'm doing.
"But I hear you," I told him. "I can't even begin to thank you for the gift of this time. I know it won't last and I want to make the most of it."
We sat in silence for a few moments.
"There's more, isn't there?" I asked. We'd been talking about marriage earlier and I segued back to that topic. "It's not just financial, the reason why you don't want to get married right now? Are you feeling like you want to wait until I'm in a more stable place in my life?" After seven and a half years together I wasn't fearful that this signaled trouble in our relationship. But we've been talking about marriage for ages and still haven't done it; it seems there's always a reason to wait.
"I just want us to be coming from a place of equal partnership," he said finally. "And we've waited this long...why not wait until it's right?" He sighed. I sighed. I fully respected what he had said. But both of us are longing to get on with our lives.
"The trouble is, sometimes you can wait too long, and then it's too late." He looked at me seriously. I felt an odd mixture of sadness and determination. There's been a lot of give and take in our relationship over the years, times when one of us would stand so the other one could lean. He's standing for me now.
"It's late," he said. "Let's go to bed." He pushed himself up from the kitchen table and reached out his hand to pull me out of my seat. He switched off the light as we left the room.
I lay in bed thinking: It's on me.
So what do you do when you don't know what to do?
I guess you ask for help.
You ask the people who might know, you ask the people who might not know, you ask the Universe, you ask God. You ask, you listen, you plan, you act.
I write this as my declaration to ask, listen, plan, act. I'm asking the Universe, I'm asking God (who are probably one and the same, but you never know), I'm asking you for help.
I've got to figure out how to make things happen.
If for no other reason than because I want to marry that man.
You see, a couple of weeks ago Monte unwittingly posed me a challenge. I think we were talking about how I should be kicking off my singing career. He said offhandedly, "You should release an album this year."
To which I responded, "That's ridiculous. You don't just release an album in a year. I'm ages away from that."
He shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation.
But you know, he got me thinking.
It doesn't have to be anything spectacular, I mused. I could just record something within the next year, just to get myself going. I mean, even if it's a crappy first effort, that wouldn't matter; at least it would be something. Surely I could manage that within a year, right?
So a few days later I announced to Monte that I would present him with a recording come Valentine's Day next year. It will be my gift to him.
I felt really good about that declaration! For about 24 hours. Then I realized I had no idea what to do next.
Meanwhile, my friend Jonah (the selfsame Jonah of blog entries past) emailed me: Hey, when are you going to send me some lyrics? For I had mentioned to Jonah that I know I can write lyrics, but I'm stumped about writing music. He plays guitar, and he graciously offered to help me pen a tune.
Oh, right! I responded. I've been meaning to get on that! I'll have them to you by next Friday.
And lo and behold, I did.
I sat down every day for a week and started churning out these lyrics that had been floating around in my head for ages. It was kind of frustrating because the song would only come out a little bit at a time. But after a solid week of work, I'd actually finished.
And I felt so good about that, I decided to complete a song every week! After all, I'd just proved to myself that it was only a matter of carving out the time! The songs are in there. I just have to draw them out.
The second piece was harder to come by than the first. Around Wednesday I got fed up and put it aside in favor of a third song. I finished neither that week, but resolved to wrap them both up by the end of Week 3.
Instead what happened was that Thursday of Week 3 found me stressed and depressed. I realized that I didn't really know what I was doing. I vaguely understood that I was working really hard in a manner that was not very productive, just spinning my wheels. And the unexpected side effect was that I had no interest in writing for my blog - in fact, I barely thought about it - because I was so wrapped up in these going-nowhere songs.
So I took a few days off. OK, more like a week. A week and half, tops. I got a pedicure.
And I started signing up for a lot of classes. Belly dancing. Zumba. Beginning Sewing. Swimming. Yoga. Songwriting. I pondered Ceramics but decided to hold off on that for awhile.
You're probably wondering why I would bother with anything other than the Songwriting class, but I was floundering. I know that I work better when I'm busy and I was trying to stimulate my brain creatively, even through an indirect approach. Plus, I want to make a wrap-around skirt to wear over my yoga and belly dance clothes. And when else am I going to have the time to do all this? I should be making the most of this time off!
Did that sound a little defensive? Maybe it was. Truthfully, in the back of my mind I wondered how Monte feels about supporting my creative whimsy. A few days later I found out.
"Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you've got enough drive for a singing career," he said to me the other night. "Do you want it bad enough? I want to see you succeed, but I can't support you indefinitely."
I waited for that to sting, but he'd only said what I'd been suspecting he felt.
"Let me ask you," I said, "Do you think I've got the talent for this?"
"There's no question of that," he replied. "Absolutely, I do."
"Okay," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "I don't know how to convince you that I have the desire and the drive to do this. Sometimes I fear that I don't have the necessary talent, but if you believe in me and my friends believe in me, then it's easier to believe in myself. I want to do this. I just don't know how. I am lost. I feel like I'm on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself forward, but I don't know which direction to go. When those doors open up in my head, when I figure out just what to do, I am ready to work so hard. I just don't know how to get started. I don't know what I'm doing.
"But I hear you," I told him. "I can't even begin to thank you for the gift of this time. I know it won't last and I want to make the most of it."
We sat in silence for a few moments.
"There's more, isn't there?" I asked. We'd been talking about marriage earlier and I segued back to that topic. "It's not just financial, the reason why you don't want to get married right now? Are you feeling like you want to wait until I'm in a more stable place in my life?" After seven and a half years together I wasn't fearful that this signaled trouble in our relationship. But we've been talking about marriage for ages and still haven't done it; it seems there's always a reason to wait.
"I just want us to be coming from a place of equal partnership," he said finally. "And we've waited this long...why not wait until it's right?" He sighed. I sighed. I fully respected what he had said. But both of us are longing to get on with our lives.
"The trouble is, sometimes you can wait too long, and then it's too late." He looked at me seriously. I felt an odd mixture of sadness and determination. There's been a lot of give and take in our relationship over the years, times when one of us would stand so the other one could lean. He's standing for me now.
"It's late," he said. "Let's go to bed." He pushed himself up from the kitchen table and reached out his hand to pull me out of my seat. He switched off the light as we left the room.
I lay in bed thinking: It's on me.
So what do you do when you don't know what to do?
I guess you ask for help.
You ask the people who might know, you ask the people who might not know, you ask the Universe, you ask God. You ask, you listen, you plan, you act.
I write this as my declaration to ask, listen, plan, act. I'm asking the Universe, I'm asking God (who are probably one and the same, but you never know), I'm asking you for help.
I've got to figure out how to make things happen.
If for no other reason than because I want to marry that man.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
3 friends, 10 drinks, 1 night on the town
Last week I went to the Rrazz Room with my friends Danny and William to see a singer named Eve Marie.
"Now, who is this woman again?" I asked Danny, as we enjoyed a little dinner before the show.
"Eve? Oh, she's the daughter of my coworker Cliff's girlfriend. Gorgeous voice. Cliff says he can't even listen to her without crying. Cheers," he added, and we all clinked our wine glasses together.
"To a lovely evening," proposed William, and Danny and I murmured our assent, noses already buried in our glasses.
"But honestly? I want to check out the room," confessed Danny when he surfaced. "Have you ever been to the Rrazz Room?" I shook my head. "It's supposed to be this great space, right inside the Hotel Nikko. And now that I'm planning to do another show, I want to see if this might be the right room for me."
"Are you doing another show?" asked William.
"Oh yeah, I'm already gathering ideas for it. I've got all these stories floating around in my head that I can't wait to tell." I saw Danny's show last year. He does a cabaret-type act that's half singing, half story-telling. And unlike many singers who talk between their songs, you actually want to hear Dan's stories, he tells them with such panache.
"I'm so impressed by you," I said, taking another sip of wine. "You just decided, 'Hey, I'm going to put on a show!' and then you went out there and did it. That's incredible."
"You should be doing this, my dear," said Danny.
"Well, you've got me thinking about it," I admitted. "I guess I didn't realize that it was something I could actually do. You know, because I don't have any original tunes yet. But you just picked some songs, got a pianist and booked a room, huh?"
"Yes, but this time I'm thinking about having a bass player!" declared Danny, and William and I oohed appreciatively. We passed a pleasant dinner discussing our plans for super-stardom. When I finally pushed away my plate I let out a sigh of contentment.
"What time is it?" asked Dan.
"Six o'clock," replied William.
"We've got time for another round!" I joked, and everybody laughed.
"The show is at seven; we don't want to be late," fretted Danny.
"Dan, relax," said William. "The venue is literally across the street. Oh, excuse me -" he said to a passing waiter. "Can we get another round, please?"
"Oh William, I was joking," I protested, but the waiter was already off.
"We want to make sure we get good seats!" persisted Danny.
"I was going to stick to one glass of wine," I said to nobody in particular.
"We'll leave here at twenty to, walk across the street and be fifteen minutes early," William reassured Danny. The waiter reappeared with our second round.
"Cheers!" we chorused, and all took a sip.
"Well, it doesn't take me much," I warned the guys. "This is already going to my head."
"Well then," said Dan, "we'll have to switch to apple martinis for the two drink minimum."
"Oh Danny," I said in dismay. "There's a two drink minimum?" I looked at my full glass of wine, gave a little sigh and then threw back a slug.
Zing! "Hey!" I said, flushed with sudden urgency. "Did I show you guys my business cards?" I rooted around in my purse for my brand new, hot pink, plastic card holder. I slapped six cards onto the table and pushed them around, lining them up.
"They're little pictures of you singing!" cried Danny, scooping one up.
"I know!" I said jubilantly. "And they're all different! Well, I've got six different designs. And look! They've got my name on the back!"
"Errin Marie, Vocalist," read William.
"That's my singing name," I said proudly.
"Just like Eve Marie!" said Danny.
"Mm hmm," I conceded, taking another swig of wine. I wondered if I could get this other woman to change her name.
"These are really cool. Where did you get them printed?" asked William.
"Moo.com," I said. "They print all kinds of cool stuff, from business cards to stickers. These are actually mini business cards, but I liked the look of them better." We admired my cards for a moment.
"I want to take a couple," said Danny. "So I can keep one and give one to a friend." He and William both chose their favorite cards.
"Okay," I said. "But don't give them out for a couple of weeks. My website isn't quite done yet."
After another half an hour (during which Dan checked William's watch three times) we left the restaurant and headed across the street to the club. I was feeling pleasantly floaty and suddenly really looking forward to hearing some music. We entered the Hotel Nikko and got in line at the Rrazz Room entrance.
"Swanky," murmured Danny, looking around.
"I had no idea it was so nice in here," I said. "I think I might just come and hang out in this lobby sometime."
"Between Sunday services," suggested William, and we laughed. The hotel is right next door to Glide.
Danny grabbed a show bill and we examined it as the line crept forward.
"Petula Clark's coming here," he pointed out.
"Hey, Freda Payne," spotted William.
"Oh! Oh! Ben Vereen!" I cried.
"Oh, he's wonderful," enthused Dan.
"I love Ben Vereen - and I will tell you why," I said, although nobody asked. "When my mother was pregnant with me, she and my dad went to go to see Ben Vereen - "
"In Pippin?" broke in Danny.
"No, I think it must have been a one-man show, kind of like this one - "
"Have you seen him in Pippin?"
"No, I haven't - "
"Oh, you've got to see Pippin! It's wonderful!"
"Okay, okay!" I said. "Anyway, it must have been in Saint Louis, cause I was born in Michigan, but only by a hot minute; my parents lived in Saint Louis until my mom was nearly due. So anyway, they went to go see Ben Vereen at his show, and afterward they got to go back to his dressing room and talk to him! And Ben Vereen bent over and called into my mother's belly button, "Hello in there!"
"Hey, that's cool!" said William.
"Isn't it?" I gushed. "So whenever I meet Ben Vereen - and I know I will someday - I'm going to tell him that story." I paused, thoughtful. "Of course, I always said that when I met John Ritter I would tell him about the idea that I had for a TV series starring him..."
"You met John Ritter?" asked Danny.
"No. But I saw him once! He was walking the streets of Manhattan with his wife and they walked right by me. And I was gathering up my courage to talk to him...but then I chickened out. And then...he died." I shook my head sorrowfully and the room spun around me. Whoa, I'm a little bit drunk, I realized.
"Tickets?" asked the man at the door. We'd reached the front of the line. Danny gave him our tickets and we were escorted into the Rrazz Room - which was packed to the gills.
"You want to get here at least 45 minutes early for the show next time," said the host. "Seating is first come, first serve."
"You hear that, guys?" Danny said dryly as we took our seats in the back. William and I muttered our apologies and looked shiftily at one another. Then I let out a little snort of laughter. Danny was already making friends with guy next to him.
The waitress came around to take our order.
"I'll have a glass of Syrah," requested William.
"I'm thinking: apple martini!" declared Danny.
"Bad idea, Dan," warned William. "Stick with the wine or you'll be hurting tomorrow."
"OK," said Danny, happy enough. "Then I'll have a Pinot."
"And for you, miss?" asked the waitress.
Oh, the hell with it. "I'll have a Chardonnay," I said. Who cared that it was a Sunday night? I'm unemployed.
"Hey guys, this is Stefán," Danny introduced us to the stranger on his other side. "He's on vacation, here from - where are you from?"
Stefán, from France, I believe, shook hands with us all. When Danny introduced me he said, "And this is Errin - she's a fantastic singer, too - oh hey, take her card!" He rooted around in his pocket and produced one of my business cards. "Go to her website!" endorsed Danny.
"Um, not yet!" I said awkwardly. "I mean, it's not quite ready yet. But it will be in a few weeks!"
"Do you have any recordings?" asked Stefán politely. The waitress returned and handed round our drinks.
"No, nothing yet," I said, taking a sip of wine and smiling brightly. God, I've got to produce something, I thought.
"But you can hear her sing online," insisted Dan.
"In a couple of weeks," I reminded him.
"In a couple of weeks," amended Danny. "Hey, what's that you're drinking? Ooh, mojito!"
The lights dimmed and Eve Marie stepped onto the stage, launching right into her first song.
She had a lovely, strong voice, but I could tell she was nervous. I could see it in the way she moved, as though she hadn't quite practiced what to do with her body; she didn't appear relaxed. I was forcibly reminded of the way it feels to be on an unfamiliar stage. And that knowledge that I knew how she felt brought it home to me; suddenly I thought: I can do this.
A dart of warmth spread through me at the realization. (Although, thinking back, that may have been the wine.)
With barely any banter, Eve kicked off her second tune and I started paying very close attention. I found myself wondering why she'd chosen these songs, and I realized I missed that storytelling element that comes into play in most live performances. People want to know what these songs mean to you, I mused, making a mental note.
I began to view Eve's performance as a master class. I scrutinized the details: She had a 5 man band, including 1 guy who played at least 3 instruments. She did 7 songs in the first set, clocking in at 50 minutes. Her songs had a certain similarity about them; they all sounded great in her voice, but a bit more variety might have spiced things up. And she hadn't done a test run in her dress; the shoulder straps kept falling down.
The lights came up at intermission and I was digging in my purse for a pen and paper. William finally passed me a cocktail menu.
"Thanks," I said, turning it over and starting to jot down notes.
"So what do you think?" asked Danny, rounding on us.
"She's got a beautiful voice," I said honestly. "Although I wish she would talk to us a bit more between songs, you know, the way you do. You've really got a talent for that, Dan." I scribbled some more on my cocktail menu.
"You should be doing this," he said to me seriously. "Can't you see yourself in this room? You would own this place. Are you thinking about it?"
I looked around slowly. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I am."
The waitress came around to take our order again. William and I each requested a bottle of water. "Oh, come on!" said Danny. "Apple martini?" William shook his head.
"Mojito?"
"Dan, if you get a mojito, you're going to be sick as a dog," said William, leaning across the table toward him. "And I'm going to call you at 7 o'clock tomorrow morning just to wake you up and laugh at you."
"I'll have another Pinot, thanks," said Danny to the waitress. He turned to us. "God, I'm having fun! It's so nice to be able to let off some steam!" Danny works for a hotel and recently they changed his shift to the 4 AM. He's on short-term retirement from social life, as these days he goes to bed around 6 in the evening. "I'm so happy I have tomorrow off!" he continued. "I miss people! I miss doing things! Oh, thank you," he said as the waitress returned and handed him a fresh glass. "Cheers!" he saluted us. William and I tipped our water bottles at him.
That's when I learned that 4 glasses of wine is Danny's tipping point.
"Woo hoo!" he screamed when the lights went back down. Eve Marie returned to the stage and began her second set. In the darkness, I started writing out a list of songs for my own show.
Every time Eve finished a song Danny would let out a holler. Unfortunately, he would also look to his left to see if William and I had enjoyed the tune, and the result was that he kept yelling directly in my ear. After a few songs I got smart and started leaning back out of range whenever Eve wrapped up a number.
"Isn't she great! God, she's great!" shouted Dan over his own applause. He grabbed my arm. "I see you up there!" he hissed. "Do you see it?"
And so it went for the entire second set. Wild applause. "Woo hoo!" "Isn't she great?" "Do you see yourself up there?"
But the thing is, I was beginning to see myself up there. Buoyed by Danny's enthusiasm, by William's reassurance ("Don't you see her up there, Will?" "Yes, I do."), by three glasses of wine, I was starting to inflate with this sense of possibility. Scratching out a set list on the back of a cocktail menu took on a weighty significance; I resolved to keep it as a memento of the night I began to plan my first show.
The lights went up and Dan went wild. "WOO HOO! Oh, that was fantastic! Wasn't that fantastic? My God, she was great! Oh, there's Cliff! Look, he's crying! I gotta go talk to him. No, we've gotta meet Eve!" He scuttled away.
William started to chuckle. "That Dan is a trip," he said, shaking his head. "I think three glasses of wine is his limit."
"You think?" I laughed.
Danny reappeared, propelling Eve by the sheer force of his excitement. She held a large bouquet of flowers and looked a little overwhelmed. "This is Eve!" announced Danny, reverently. "And this is William and Errin. We sing together in the Glide Ensemble!"
"Hello," said Eve, shaking our hands.
"You were wonderful," I said. "Very inspiring."
She thanked us and moved on. Danny was overcome with delight. "Wasn't that just a marvelous show?" he asked us as we put on our coats and stepped out of the darkened club. "I just had the best time!"
"She was great," agreed William.
"Very inspiring," I said again. I pulled out my cocktail menu and gazed at it fondly.
Under the lights in the lobby I saw that my set list was a jumble of unintelligible scrawl. I squinted at it.
What the hell does that say? I wondered. DMB? What does that stand for? Dave Matthews Band?
"We should come back to see Ben Vereen!" Danny was saying.
"I'd be up for that," replied William.
This list doesn't make any sense, I realized with dismay. I peered at it stupidly. Damn, how drunk am I?
"Oh, bye Stefán!" called Danny. "Remember to check out Errin's website!"
I blinked and looked up. "In a couple of weeks!" I said anxiously, but Stefán was gone.
"Shall we walk Errin to the BART?" asked William.
"Oh, I thought we'd get another drink," said Danny.
"I've got to work tomorrow, Dan!" said William.
"Yeah, I'm done too," I said, stuffing the set list back in my pocket.
"Oh. Okay," Dan relented.
We walked to the BART station, chattering about the show. "Listen," Danny said in his final pitch, "You should be thinking about your show. I mean it Errin, you would rock that room."
William concurred: "Here, here."
I was filled with a rush of love for my two friends. How lucky am I to have such encouragement? I gave each of them a big hug.
"Thank you both for a wonderful evening," I said. "I had a great time."
"Me too," said William. "We'll see you on Wednesday."
"See ya, Sweets!" chorused Dan.
They waved at me as I skipped down the steps into the station. Then, as they turned and walked away I heard Danny say, "So what do you think about just one apple martini?"
"Now, who is this woman again?" I asked Danny, as we enjoyed a little dinner before the show.
"Eve? Oh, she's the daughter of my coworker Cliff's girlfriend. Gorgeous voice. Cliff says he can't even listen to her without crying. Cheers," he added, and we all clinked our wine glasses together.
"To a lovely evening," proposed William, and Danny and I murmured our assent, noses already buried in our glasses.
"But honestly? I want to check out the room," confessed Danny when he surfaced. "Have you ever been to the Rrazz Room?" I shook my head. "It's supposed to be this great space, right inside the Hotel Nikko. And now that I'm planning to do another show, I want to see if this might be the right room for me."
"Are you doing another show?" asked William.
"Oh yeah, I'm already gathering ideas for it. I've got all these stories floating around in my head that I can't wait to tell." I saw Danny's show last year. He does a cabaret-type act that's half singing, half story-telling. And unlike many singers who talk between their songs, you actually want to hear Dan's stories, he tells them with such panache.
"I'm so impressed by you," I said, taking another sip of wine. "You just decided, 'Hey, I'm going to put on a show!' and then you went out there and did it. That's incredible."
"You should be doing this, my dear," said Danny.
"Well, you've got me thinking about it," I admitted. "I guess I didn't realize that it was something I could actually do. You know, because I don't have any original tunes yet. But you just picked some songs, got a pianist and booked a room, huh?"
"Yes, but this time I'm thinking about having a bass player!" declared Danny, and William and I oohed appreciatively. We passed a pleasant dinner discussing our plans for super-stardom. When I finally pushed away my plate I let out a sigh of contentment.
"What time is it?" asked Dan.
"Six o'clock," replied William.
"We've got time for another round!" I joked, and everybody laughed.
"The show is at seven; we don't want to be late," fretted Danny.
"Dan, relax," said William. "The venue is literally across the street. Oh, excuse me -" he said to a passing waiter. "Can we get another round, please?"
"Oh William, I was joking," I protested, but the waiter was already off.
"We want to make sure we get good seats!" persisted Danny.
"I was going to stick to one glass of wine," I said to nobody in particular.
"We'll leave here at twenty to, walk across the street and be fifteen minutes early," William reassured Danny. The waiter reappeared with our second round.
"Cheers!" we chorused, and all took a sip.
"Well, it doesn't take me much," I warned the guys. "This is already going to my head."
"Well then," said Dan, "we'll have to switch to apple martinis for the two drink minimum."
"Oh Danny," I said in dismay. "There's a two drink minimum?" I looked at my full glass of wine, gave a little sigh and then threw back a slug.
Zing! "Hey!" I said, flushed with sudden urgency. "Did I show you guys my business cards?" I rooted around in my purse for my brand new, hot pink, plastic card holder. I slapped six cards onto the table and pushed them around, lining them up.
"They're little pictures of you singing!" cried Danny, scooping one up.
"I know!" I said jubilantly. "And they're all different! Well, I've got six different designs. And look! They've got my name on the back!"
"Errin Marie, Vocalist," read William.
"That's my singing name," I said proudly.
"Just like Eve Marie!" said Danny.
"Mm hmm," I conceded, taking another swig of wine. I wondered if I could get this other woman to change her name.
"These are really cool. Where did you get them printed?" asked William.
"Moo.com," I said. "They print all kinds of cool stuff, from business cards to stickers. These are actually mini business cards, but I liked the look of them better." We admired my cards for a moment.
"I want to take a couple," said Danny. "So I can keep one and give one to a friend." He and William both chose their favorite cards.
"Okay," I said. "But don't give them out for a couple of weeks. My website isn't quite done yet."
After another half an hour (during which Dan checked William's watch three times) we left the restaurant and headed across the street to the club. I was feeling pleasantly floaty and suddenly really looking forward to hearing some music. We entered the Hotel Nikko and got in line at the Rrazz Room entrance.
"Swanky," murmured Danny, looking around.
"I had no idea it was so nice in here," I said. "I think I might just come and hang out in this lobby sometime."
"Between Sunday services," suggested William, and we laughed. The hotel is right next door to Glide.
Danny grabbed a show bill and we examined it as the line crept forward.
"Petula Clark's coming here," he pointed out.
"Hey, Freda Payne," spotted William.
"Oh! Oh! Ben Vereen!" I cried.
"Oh, he's wonderful," enthused Dan.
"I love Ben Vereen - and I will tell you why," I said, although nobody asked. "When my mother was pregnant with me, she and my dad went to go to see Ben Vereen - "
"In Pippin?" broke in Danny.
"No, I think it must have been a one-man show, kind of like this one - "
"Have you seen him in Pippin?"
"No, I haven't - "
"Oh, you've got to see Pippin! It's wonderful!"
"Okay, okay!" I said. "Anyway, it must have been in Saint Louis, cause I was born in Michigan, but only by a hot minute; my parents lived in Saint Louis until my mom was nearly due. So anyway, they went to go see Ben Vereen at his show, and afterward they got to go back to his dressing room and talk to him! And Ben Vereen bent over and called into my mother's belly button, "Hello in there!"
"Hey, that's cool!" said William.
"Isn't it?" I gushed. "So whenever I meet Ben Vereen - and I know I will someday - I'm going to tell him that story." I paused, thoughtful. "Of course, I always said that when I met John Ritter I would tell him about the idea that I had for a TV series starring him..."
"You met John Ritter?" asked Danny.
"No. But I saw him once! He was walking the streets of Manhattan with his wife and they walked right by me. And I was gathering up my courage to talk to him...but then I chickened out. And then...he died." I shook my head sorrowfully and the room spun around me. Whoa, I'm a little bit drunk, I realized.
"Tickets?" asked the man at the door. We'd reached the front of the line. Danny gave him our tickets and we were escorted into the Rrazz Room - which was packed to the gills.
"You want to get here at least 45 minutes early for the show next time," said the host. "Seating is first come, first serve."
"You hear that, guys?" Danny said dryly as we took our seats in the back. William and I muttered our apologies and looked shiftily at one another. Then I let out a little snort of laughter. Danny was already making friends with guy next to him.
The waitress came around to take our order.
"I'll have a glass of Syrah," requested William.
"I'm thinking: apple martini!" declared Danny.
"Bad idea, Dan," warned William. "Stick with the wine or you'll be hurting tomorrow."
"OK," said Danny, happy enough. "Then I'll have a Pinot."
"And for you, miss?" asked the waitress.
Oh, the hell with it. "I'll have a Chardonnay," I said. Who cared that it was a Sunday night? I'm unemployed.
"Hey guys, this is Stefán," Danny introduced us to the stranger on his other side. "He's on vacation, here from - where are you from?"
Stefán, from France, I believe, shook hands with us all. When Danny introduced me he said, "And this is Errin - she's a fantastic singer, too - oh hey, take her card!" He rooted around in his pocket and produced one of my business cards. "Go to her website!" endorsed Danny.
"Um, not yet!" I said awkwardly. "I mean, it's not quite ready yet. But it will be in a few weeks!"
"Do you have any recordings?" asked Stefán politely. The waitress returned and handed round our drinks.
"No, nothing yet," I said, taking a sip of wine and smiling brightly. God, I've got to produce something, I thought.
"But you can hear her sing online," insisted Dan.
"In a couple of weeks," I reminded him.
"In a couple of weeks," amended Danny. "Hey, what's that you're drinking? Ooh, mojito!"
The lights dimmed and Eve Marie stepped onto the stage, launching right into her first song.
She had a lovely, strong voice, but I could tell she was nervous. I could see it in the way she moved, as though she hadn't quite practiced what to do with her body; she didn't appear relaxed. I was forcibly reminded of the way it feels to be on an unfamiliar stage. And that knowledge that I knew how she felt brought it home to me; suddenly I thought: I can do this.
A dart of warmth spread through me at the realization. (Although, thinking back, that may have been the wine.)
With barely any banter, Eve kicked off her second tune and I started paying very close attention. I found myself wondering why she'd chosen these songs, and I realized I missed that storytelling element that comes into play in most live performances. People want to know what these songs mean to you, I mused, making a mental note.
I began to view Eve's performance as a master class. I scrutinized the details: She had a 5 man band, including 1 guy who played at least 3 instruments. She did 7 songs in the first set, clocking in at 50 minutes. Her songs had a certain similarity about them; they all sounded great in her voice, but a bit more variety might have spiced things up. And she hadn't done a test run in her dress; the shoulder straps kept falling down.
The lights came up at intermission and I was digging in my purse for a pen and paper. William finally passed me a cocktail menu.
"Thanks," I said, turning it over and starting to jot down notes.
"So what do you think?" asked Danny, rounding on us.
"She's got a beautiful voice," I said honestly. "Although I wish she would talk to us a bit more between songs, you know, the way you do. You've really got a talent for that, Dan." I scribbled some more on my cocktail menu.
"You should be doing this," he said to me seriously. "Can't you see yourself in this room? You would own this place. Are you thinking about it?"
I looked around slowly. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I am."
The waitress came around to take our order again. William and I each requested a bottle of water. "Oh, come on!" said Danny. "Apple martini?" William shook his head.
"Mojito?"
"Dan, if you get a mojito, you're going to be sick as a dog," said William, leaning across the table toward him. "And I'm going to call you at 7 o'clock tomorrow morning just to wake you up and laugh at you."
"I'll have another Pinot, thanks," said Danny to the waitress. He turned to us. "God, I'm having fun! It's so nice to be able to let off some steam!" Danny works for a hotel and recently they changed his shift to the 4 AM. He's on short-term retirement from social life, as these days he goes to bed around 6 in the evening. "I'm so happy I have tomorrow off!" he continued. "I miss people! I miss doing things! Oh, thank you," he said as the waitress returned and handed him a fresh glass. "Cheers!" he saluted us. William and I tipped our water bottles at him.
That's when I learned that 4 glasses of wine is Danny's tipping point.
"Woo hoo!" he screamed when the lights went back down. Eve Marie returned to the stage and began her second set. In the darkness, I started writing out a list of songs for my own show.
Every time Eve finished a song Danny would let out a holler. Unfortunately, he would also look to his left to see if William and I had enjoyed the tune, and the result was that he kept yelling directly in my ear. After a few songs I got smart and started leaning back out of range whenever Eve wrapped up a number.
"Isn't she great! God, she's great!" shouted Dan over his own applause. He grabbed my arm. "I see you up there!" he hissed. "Do you see it?"
And so it went for the entire second set. Wild applause. "Woo hoo!" "Isn't she great?" "Do you see yourself up there?"
But the thing is, I was beginning to see myself up there. Buoyed by Danny's enthusiasm, by William's reassurance ("Don't you see her up there, Will?" "Yes, I do."), by three glasses of wine, I was starting to inflate with this sense of possibility. Scratching out a set list on the back of a cocktail menu took on a weighty significance; I resolved to keep it as a memento of the night I began to plan my first show.
The lights went up and Dan went wild. "WOO HOO! Oh, that was fantastic! Wasn't that fantastic? My God, she was great! Oh, there's Cliff! Look, he's crying! I gotta go talk to him. No, we've gotta meet Eve!" He scuttled away.
William started to chuckle. "That Dan is a trip," he said, shaking his head. "I think three glasses of wine is his limit."
"You think?" I laughed.
Danny reappeared, propelling Eve by the sheer force of his excitement. She held a large bouquet of flowers and looked a little overwhelmed. "This is Eve!" announced Danny, reverently. "And this is William and Errin. We sing together in the Glide Ensemble!"
"Hello," said Eve, shaking our hands.
"You were wonderful," I said. "Very inspiring."
She thanked us and moved on. Danny was overcome with delight. "Wasn't that just a marvelous show?" he asked us as we put on our coats and stepped out of the darkened club. "I just had the best time!"
"She was great," agreed William.
"Very inspiring," I said again. I pulled out my cocktail menu and gazed at it fondly.
Under the lights in the lobby I saw that my set list was a jumble of unintelligible scrawl. I squinted at it.
What the hell does that say? I wondered. DMB? What does that stand for? Dave Matthews Band?
"We should come back to see Ben Vereen!" Danny was saying.
"I'd be up for that," replied William.
This list doesn't make any sense, I realized with dismay. I peered at it stupidly. Damn, how drunk am I?
"Oh, bye Stefán!" called Danny. "Remember to check out Errin's website!"
I blinked and looked up. "In a couple of weeks!" I said anxiously, but Stefán was gone.
"Shall we walk Errin to the BART?" asked William.
"Oh, I thought we'd get another drink," said Danny.
"I've got to work tomorrow, Dan!" said William.
"Yeah, I'm done too," I said, stuffing the set list back in my pocket.
"Oh. Okay," Dan relented.
We walked to the BART station, chattering about the show. "Listen," Danny said in his final pitch, "You should be thinking about your show. I mean it Errin, you would rock that room."
William concurred: "Here, here."
I was filled with a rush of love for my two friends. How lucky am I to have such encouragement? I gave each of them a big hug.
"Thank you both for a wonderful evening," I said. "I had a great time."
"Me too," said William. "We'll see you on Wednesday."
"See ya, Sweets!" chorused Dan.
They waved at me as I skipped down the steps into the station. Then, as they turned and walked away I heard Danny say, "So what do you think about just one apple martini?"
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