Eddie Money, who I shot in the filmic sense last night, is the sweatiest man in show business: in the space of four songs the tie-wearing performer soaked through his shirt and also the knot of his tie - sweat was accumulating at the top and soaking downwards. Another word on sweat: I'm still rather impressed with myself for being so diplomatic on Wednesday night when I hugged a rather large acquaintance at a benefit and it was like grabbing hold of a six foot damp sponge. He looked at my face waiting, I believe, for me to scream. I did not. A local singer songwriter femme of impressive talents duetted with Mr. $$$ on "Take Me Home Tonight" and I awaited this moment for what seemed an eternity. Finally It was happening. I was off to the side, not getting anything great, so I went onstage and squatted (not to pee) behind an amp for a moment when ironically-nicknamed Tiny came to take me away. As we walked down the ramp I asked Are you sure about this? Meaning = It's only Mr. $$$ and a local act and I am not in view of any audience member and I sure the hell don't look like I'm about to toss a bra or myself on Mr. $$$. The guitar tech squeezed me into another tight spot which was adequate. Special note to Mr. $$$: cool it on the anti-x-wife and divorce and rehab inter-song banter, it gets sort of old.
Thanks for your 80's-esque attention in this matter.
Your pal and apparant onstage nuisance, Nancy. XO