Last night highlights:
1. Gig at university, documenting 'Fun Fest.' Manipulating co-eds at this boozeless soirée to do some really really Nancyesque poses exuding plethoras of fun, including a bunch of guys doing fun hand gestures while holding a woman track star aloft horizontally. Does this make sense? Absolutely not. But does it scream fun? Fuck yeah.
2. Zoomed down to mediocre Canadian pop rocker engagement at Sphere, revamped 50s nightclub. First real concert there and the promoters did not have their shit together which meant that Laura and I were kept waiting waiting and waiting at the back door. After more waiting was told that we had to walk all the way around the building to the front door, which meant then shimmying through 1K drunk psychotic 54-40 fans. No treat there. At one of their outdoor gigs I walked in front of the stage, passing a bunch of fat old lady fans who completely freaked out that I might land in the spot in front of them (band is about 20 minutes away from performing) and so they shoved me in a fit of panic. That's what I was dealing with once I was in the room, after expressing my dismay at the promoters - pals of mine. One of them handed me a ticket which I tantrumly frisbeed at his feet on my way in to shoot. What a bitch! So I'm standing finally near the stage and a fan behind me lightly punched me on the back 3x until finally I spun around and said Look, I'm going to be here for five minutes so fuck off. Five minutes later I was back in the front of the venue (perhaps a concert shooting speed record), talking to the promoters (who admitted they were having multitudes of first-timer problems and apologized for the hassle) and having a very weak cocktail.
3. While having said cocktail Laura and I were invited down into the club's expansive basement kitchen by the owner, Joey, to sample his new Brazilian chef's wares. She whipped us up a few dishes. Yumbadelic.
4. Onwards to further stops including charity 'masquerade ball' at internationally-renowned Albright-Knox Art Gallery where me and my entourage of now 2 got yet more feisty after turbo-powered drinks poured by artists doubling as 'bartenders.' Left that scene after first dropping a strand of my el cheapo Mardi Gras (note to Middling City folks: You don't understand MG... go to New Orleans one time for a real Mardi Gras to understand what it really is, fercrissakes) beads upon a surveillance camera mounted in the stairwell near Die Milchstrausse by Anselm Kiefer - about the size of a house.
One sub-highlight was seeing a lawyerly pal and his very drunken silly date who was wearing a water bra, inviting us all to feel its squishiness. Note to self: never wear a water bra.
This lawyer also thanked me profusely for not publishing the photo of him stage riding at an outdoor music festival this past summer. What's the big deal, I asked, this, if anything, will open up a whole new market to you such as personal injury cases at concerts.
5. Ended the evening with now an entourage of 3 in a bar I would normally hardly ever be caught dead or partially dead in but the judgement was slightly impaired (see above). One of those annoying bars that's a shithole yet has pretensions exhibited in the layers of memorabilia tooting their own horn all over the walls.

Up with feistiness.