Fairfax
October 29 Tuesday
I'm in the Kibbutz Room alongside Canter's on Fairfax because I'm an idiot. Getoff caledl. He had an invitation to "Fresh Talent Night" at Cafe Largo. He said he'd buy me a couple of drinks. We can't go in until 7:30, so we came across the street here. A Sandy Koufax plate hangs on the wall. Getoff and Steve are talking music business. A lawyer around the corner of the bar chimes in with his New York Jewish accent: "You need Vaudeville. All those old guys had Vaudeville. Do a little joke. Sing a little song. Some soft shoe."
"I'm not so sure the TV doesn't watch us," says the bartender. "How hard would it be to put a camera in there?"
"Let me tell you something," says the lawyer. "As a lawyer, I can find out anything I want about you in about ten minutes."
"Soon," sez the bartender, "when you're born, they'll put a chip under your skin."
The deli is awfully quiet tonight. I should have stayed home. Two hours I'll not be working on my book--"What are you writing in there?" asks the lawyer.
"Every word you say," I tell him.
He makes a noise like he's got a hair stuck in the back of his throat.
"I'm just writing whatever I can think of," I say, "which ain't much."
He makes the noise again. I keep writing. I feel like I've been wrong about everything for so long. How do you like that, Mr. Lawyer?
We're back across the street at Largo now. A band is playing. The drummer looks like a hobo who just fell off a train. Denny Brown's making a sincere effort. It's too bad this Ben Folds dude in the piano isn't a woman because he sings beautifully, but in a woman's soprano.
I'm in the Kibbutz Room alongside Canter's on Fairfax because I'm an idiot. Getoff caledl. He had an invitation to "Fresh Talent Night" at Cafe Largo. He said he'd buy me a couple of drinks. We can't go in until 7:30, so we came across the street here. A Sandy Koufax plate hangs on the wall. Getoff and Steve are talking music business. A lawyer around the corner of the bar chimes in with his New York Jewish accent: "You need Vaudeville. All those old guys had Vaudeville. Do a little joke. Sing a little song. Some soft shoe."
"I'm not so sure the TV doesn't watch us," says the bartender. "How hard would it be to put a camera in there?"
"Let me tell you something," says the lawyer. "As a lawyer, I can find out anything I want about you in about ten minutes."
"Soon," sez the bartender, "when you're born, they'll put a chip under your skin."
The deli is awfully quiet tonight. I should have stayed home. Two hours I'll not be working on my book--"What are you writing in there?" asks the lawyer.
"Every word you say," I tell him.
He makes a noise like he's got a hair stuck in the back of his throat.
"I'm just writing whatever I can think of," I say, "which ain't much."
He makes the noise again. I keep writing. I feel like I've been wrong about everything for so long. How do you like that, Mr. Lawyer?
We're back across the street at Largo now. A band is playing. The drummer looks like a hobo who just fell off a train. Denny Brown's making a sincere effort. It's too bad this Ben Folds dude in the piano isn't a woman because he sings beautifully, but in a woman's soprano.
posted by johnz at 12:09 PM
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