Hold My Life!!

Moving day

2005-08-03T12:04:00.000-07:00

Finally found a place in Brooklyn. Not about to give out my address, but it's there. It's right off of 3rd Avenue--it's a 5 minute walk to the R train and about a 15 minute walk to the express Bus on Shore Road. There's this ugly green paint on the walls but that's fixable.

Not too much to say right now, cuz we just signed the lease. I wanna get moved as soon as possible, so I'm starting now. Lola's gotta work.

It'll be a long night, but the sooner the better. Guitars and gear go over first-- priorities, y'know...

Argh

2005-08-01T10:03:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Can't find a place, getting discouraged.

Penny Heartbreaker-- assassin

2005-07-31T22:00:00.000-07:00

Geez, who do you have to kill to find an apartment in this town?

Seriously, I'm beginning to think that Lola and I are going to have to assassinate someone in order to get a place we can afford. She has this realtor friend, Phil, who actually suggested it.

Lola's place is too small for two of us, and I'm sick of sleeping on her couch. But there's no way in hell that I'm gonna go back to the place that Johnny and I were sharing. I don't care if he ever goes back, I don't wanna see it again.

Finally got some sleep

2005-07-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

So I went to the Grotto this morning to check in with Ivan, and to let he and Lola know that I was back. Ivan closed the bar and took us out to lunch so I could tell them the story of my little roadtrip, in all it's excruciating detail, firsthand.

I love those guys. They are the first long-term friends I made when I came to the City, and I have a feeling that they'll always be my friends. We stayed out all afternoon, and by the time we left the restaurant, I once more had a job and a place to stay.

So, starting next week, I'll be working behind the bar. I'll be working with Lola on her shifts till I learn the ropes, and then after that, Ivan said I could start working on my own-- when I'm ready. I figure I already am. I mean, I've been hanging around there for long enough that I've seen pretty much everything that ever happens there... it's not like it's gonna be a shock having to throw hatboy out when he starts talking to himself or falling asleep at the bar.

Anyway, gotta go. Lola and I are going out looking for an apartment. This oughtta be interesting...

NYC

2005-07-27T06:32:00.000-07:00

I am in such a daze.

It's 6 am and the sun is just coming up, peeking through the buildings in tiny shafts here and there. The City is waking up. Me, I just wanna go to sleep for a week.

I can't, though. Stuff to do.

I've been back in town for a couple hours, putting off actually going home. So I went to breakfast, refueled and tried to recharge, but it was hard. So much had happened over the last week or so that, I still feel like I'm processing everything.

And I didn't want to go home. Why? Well, that apartment was the one that Johnny and I shared. Going back in there meant facing reality again, and the quest that I've been on this past week has, if nothing else, allowed me to avoid reality.

But I can't do that anymore. I'm back here now, in the apartment, where everything went down. I look into the bedroom and all I can think of is catching him there with his little groupie girl. I look out the window and out there on the sidewalk in front of the building is where we got into that fight as I was leaving. It's too much.

All his stuff's gone. Wonder if he's ever planning on coming back? He'd might as well, because I sure can't stay here anymore.

So that's gonna be my day. Packing up and getting out of here. No sleep, but I already feel like I'm off in dreamland anyway. The packing will give me time to figure out where I'm gonna go, and what I'm gonna do next.

The Plan

2005-07-23T07:10:00.000-07:00

People tend to think I'm a bubblehead. The vacuous little groupie-chick who wears her skirts too short and panics whenever she's in front of a crowd of people. Well, I've got news for them: When I want to be, I can be a spiteful, vindictive bitch.

Yeah, I was mad when I realized what was happening with the record label. I was livid when it became obvious that Johnny was going right along with it and putting his own ambition above, well, everything we'd ever talked about achieving together.

But when I caught him in the sack with that redhead, I swore that I would ruin that little creep.

Ever since Johnny and I first hooked up, I've used this blog as a promotional vehicle. And I knew that people were reading it, from reading the comments on the posts and meeting people in person at the shows, many of whom learned about the shows from reading about it here. And I'm a shameless geek about using the power of the internet to bring people together...the whole thing came to me in a flash. "Fuck it," I thought, "I'll turn the whole thing around on him and use it to ruin the little creep."

I remembered that the day after I caught him all over that girl, he was booked to appear on Stern. After that, he'd begin a little mini tour, culminating in a televised Empty-Veee concert that was supposed to break Johnny as the 'next big thing' to America.

One post here in the blog, and one call from me to the Stern show was all it took to completely wreck that appearance for him. Thank god Howard is such a perv or else he probably would've blown me off as some crackpot. And thanks also to everyone who called in to the show, by the way.

Now I just have to worry about them holding me to that promise of coming in and sitting in the tickle-chair... sigh, the things I do for revenge.

I noticed immediately after the show, that my hit count skyrocketed on the site... people knew about me now. I decided to use that. I would hit the road, organizing Flash Mobs to screw up his shows and personal appearances in each town. It seemed to be going well at first. But then I realized that, in the end, I was only drawing more attention to Johnny, the 'bad boy rock star' who broke this crazy little girl's heart.

I'd become a marketing tool. I was giving him exactly what he needed, a controversy.

That fact hit me like a sack of wet newspapers in Chicago two nights ago. I was crushed when I realized that I was only making him more famous. Dazed, I just sort'a got on the bus and headed here, to this, the last stop on Johnny's tour. I spent most of the trip here thinking, just trying to sort everything out and figure out what was gonna happen next.

It didn't work. So now, here I am, utterly alone in a cold damp alley in Minneapolis on the morning of the Empty Vee show taping. Just me and all of you, many of whom apparently think this is cool, like it's some sort of rock-star feud or something. It isn't. It's my life and what he did, what they did really hurts.

If I do nothing, the show will just go on. The damage has, most likely, already been done. The catch is that If I do something, all I'll be doing is making him more famous.

I have no idea what to do. I think I've just officially lost.

The Backstory

2005-07-23T06:37:00.000-07:00

For those of you who might be new to the blog, I'll give you the short version of the story to bring you up to speed. I guess it started about a year ago. I was in New York, trying to make it as a singer/songwriter...

...it wasn't going well. I had really bad stage fright, which was causing me to have panic attacks every single time I went up in front of an audience. I couldn't breathe, my chest got tight, and my heart would race out of control. The first time, I thought I was gonna die. It got worse after that.
It became obvious that I wasn't gonna be able to make this work. One night at the Grotto, I'd finally decided that I'd had enough. As I was sitting there wallowing in the glory of defeat, lamenting the loss of the notebook that I write my songs in, a nice boy named Sheldon returned my notebook. Guess I'd dropped it as I ran offstage in mid-panic.

Long story short, I promise... we got to talking, he and I. Then we became friends. Turns out he was a musician as well. Cover bands. He could sing, he could play but he couldn't write worth a damn. Unlike me, he was at ease on stage, even if he had absolutely no sense of style. He looked like a dish washer.

I can remember sitting in the audience the first time he played one of my songs, thinking "I could make this guy famous."

All he needed was the right songs and the right image. I could provide both. It was simple, really. New haircut, new clothes and a crash-course in rock star swagger. That was all it took to transform sweet, goofy Eugene Brown into Johnny Guttersnipe.

Oh yeah...the name. What can I say? No girl ever stayed out past curfew to go see some kid named Eugene play out on a Saturday night...

Like I've said here before, I'm a firm believer in the art of reinvention. What, d'you think I was born with the name Penny Heartbreaker?

The image was just a small part of the big picture. Johnny needed songs. Good ones, preferably. Luckily, I had a bunch of songs that, well, at least I thought they were totally badass. I'd recently come to the realization that I wasn't gonna be able to play them in public, not with the panic attacks I was having onstage. So, I gave 'em to Johnny. We'd stay up all night, playin' the songs over and over, till he had 'em down.

We played 'em till he knew those songs as well as if they were his own.

Of course, I've always had a way of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. I mean, here I'd created my ideal, this perfect little rock star boy, but it never occurred to me that other girls might set their sites on him.

The more Johnny played out, it seemed, the more confident he became. The more confident he became, the more he took to the persona that we'd created for him.

We're all fictional characters, only some of us are better at creating a believable one than others. I didn't know that Johnny was better at it than I was. Damn, was he better.

The more he took to the Johnny Guttersnipe persona in public, the more chicks seemed to take notice of him. I put it out of my mind, though, because the record labels started taking note of him too. I thought everything was going well, but I realize now that this was the point where it all began spiralling out of control.

You see, they started scheduling meetings, talking about signing him. The buzz was that Johnny was "very marketable." I was overjoyed. After all, I created that marketable character. Wrote his songs, bought his clothes. He was my partner, both professionally and personally, or so I thought. I'd been maintaining this blog ever since I stepped foot in New York, and by this time, the majority of my posts had become about Johnny's career.

I didn't realize that I was being pushed out almost from the beginning. I should've gotten a lawyer, I should've started protecting myself. But why would I do that? I had a great boyfriend, surely he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was pushed out right from the start. They wanted the character we'd created, but not me. Songwriters and image consultants they had in abundance.

They rewrote my songs, turning it into the same safe, phony rock and roll that sells millions of records by cutting the heart and soul right out of them. My protests were completely disregarded. In fact, the more I tried to fight them, the more they pushed me off to the side. I was just "Johnnny's wack-job control freak girlfriend."

But that wasn't the worst part, no. Having my soul stolen and transformed into something about as relevant as Ashlee Simpson paled in comparison to the fact that Johnny completely went along with it...and then cheated on me with some skank he met at a bar. The night I busted them, sweating all over my sheets in the apartment we'd just rented was the night I just lost it. We had a huge fight, I grabbed my things and left. Later that night, after wandering the streets of New York for several hours, I came up with the plan...

Revenge Is Not Sexy...

2005-07-23T04:35:00.000-07:00

Posters. He has posters, for fuck's sake.

I'm out here with like, no money and no resources, and the first thing I see when I step off the bus is that little goon, scowling at me like he's dangerous or something. I'm several blocks away before I finally chill out and get my wits about me again. That's when I remember that I was looking for free Wi-Fi...

Actually, I probably wouldn't have even remembered then, if I hadn't walked right up on someone's marks.

There are lots of places that use wireless internet. If you know what to look for, you can just walk right up and use someone's connection. It also helps when there's somebody out there cool enough to mark it for you. It was only a couple of months ago that a friend even told me about warchalking. That's what it's called, I swear. I thought the whole thing sounded a little too cute... using old hobo symbols to mark places with free Wi-Fi...then I saw it firsthand.Now, every town I hit, I find myself looking for widgy little chalk marks on buildings and sidewalks.

Anyway, here I am, cold, lonely & hungry, plotting revenge on the biggest poseur in Rock N' Roll history from my temporary headquarters...an alley in the worst part of Minneapolis.

Revenge is not sexy.

MPLS!!

2005-07-23T03:40:00.000-07:00

I'd give anything to be at home right now, warm and safe in my own bed. Instead, I'm a thousand miles away, all alone on a Greyhound bus bound for Minneapolis in the dead of the night.

Not long ago, I would have looked at a road trip like this like it was an adventure. Now, I'm just like, 'when do we get there?' The last passenger got off in some hick town a couple hundred miles east of here. Innocent farmboy-type, on his way home from school. He didn't know what to make of me, but he was polite and I was able to pass the time talking to him.

Since then, I've just been sitting here alone with my thoughts, completely isolated from the world as I watch it pass by outside my window. I never thought I'd miss writing in my blog, but I do.

All this time, I've taken it for granted. Sometimes it feels like such a burden, but without it, I feel so... I dunno, disconnected.

It won't be much longer. I'll transmit this as soon as I can get some pavement under my feet and find some Wi-Fi, so any of you who are still interested in the saga of Penny Heartbreaker can get your fix.

I step off the bus at 2:47 am. The neighborhood I'm in looks less than inviting. Kind'a seedy and industrial. I doubt there's a Starbucks in this part of town, and even if there were, it probably wouldn't be open at this hour, which means if I'm gonna blog my little heart out, I'm gonna have to do a little warwalking first. Oh, please let there be a chalker in this town...

I went cross-country once before, from Nowhere, Oregon, bound for nowhere in particular. That was out of necessity. I was 18, and I had to get out of that place. I didn't care where I ended up, I just knew I had to re-invent myself.

So I saved what money I could, and the first chance I got, I was outta there. The morning of my 18th birthday, I took off in the middle of the night on the first bus out of town. I ended up in New York. The second I stepped off the bus, I knew I didn't need to run anymore.I knew I was home.

But here I am again, out on the road. Why? Well, like I said, the first time I hit the road was out of necessity. This time...? This time I'm out for revenge.

2005-01-18T20:44:00.000-08:00

Arrrgh!

I don't understand what's going on with Johnny's record label, but it's becoming obvious that they want to cut me out of the equation as completely as possible. When they initially approached us, (it was the both of us that they'd approached) I felt like an equal partner in this whole thing. But as things have progressed, it's become clear that my contribution isn't valued very highly by the suits. My official title now, within their organization, seems to be "Rock Star's girlfriend".

What'd I ever do to them? Why do they seem to hate me and, I dunno, seem so determined to humiliate me? And why doesn't Johnny just put his foot down and stop them? I think they just want me to go away so they can turn Johnny into the next John Mayer or Keith Partridge. I'm beginning to think that he's just fine with it, too.

Granted, I'm not asking or expecting them to kiss my ass, and I certainly don't want to ruin this opportunity for Johnny, but some small acknowledgement, some small amount of input would go a long way at this point. Instead, they're doing the exact opposite. The way this is going down is making me feel just...insignificant.

So now, on top of not even letting me into the recording studio, they're rewriting my songs. That is, of course, the ones they're even using at all. Johnny showed up with some demos, and it was... oh god it was awful. Hearing what they'd done broke my heart, and there's really nothing I can do about it.

My songs are a large part of what got them interested in Johnny in the first place, so why are they changing them all around? Why not just dump them and buy new ones? I should've gotten my own lawyer, and I shouldn't have accepted the payment they offered early on without consulting someone.

The way it is now, I'll be lucky if I even get a songwriting credit. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

So much for Rock N' Roll

2005-01-05T21:54:00.000-08:00

I just got off the phone with Dwayne, or as I like to call him "Johnny's A&R Weasel". It wasn't a good experience.

You see, I ran across some song lyrics yesterday. Vaguely familiar, at first I thought they were, like, a John Mayer song, or maybe Ashlee Simpson. Then I realized that they were my songs. Well, at least they used to be my songs before some record company goon got ahold of them and had one of their "hitmakers" rewrite them.

When I say rewrite, I mean that they tossed out all the good lyrics, all the dangerous parts, and anything meaningful, and replaced them with radio-friendly sentiments. "So much for my happy ending" and all that. The end result was something that sounded so homogenized that the fucking Backstreet boys could've recorded it. It was disgusting.

Johnny told me that he was ambushed with them when he'd showed up at the label to record yesterday, but I have a feeling that he may have been lying to me. Why? well, because when I called the A&R geek, some of what he said echoed very closely the words that came out of Johnny's mouth the night before. I'm wondering if maybe these guys are working on him. I have no way to be sure, as I'm really not allowed in the studio.

Anyway, what I was told by the A&R fuckwit was that in today's recording industry, it's impossible to put a new guy out there without knowing that you're gonna have a hit single right out. So they turn to these tried-and-true hitmakers, people who can crank out horrible shit music that they can then cram down the throats of music fans worldwide. Apparently, one of them had gotten the bright idea to take my songs and keep just enough of it to pass off as what the kid had been playing in clubs all this time.

When I told him that he didn't know the first thing about Rock N' Roll, he replied, arrogantly, with "I'm not in the Rock N' Roll business. I'm in the business of selling records."

It's not fair. I wish they'd have just scrapped the songs and started fresh. I knew I shouldn't have accepted that check from those fuckers. Now I'm wondering if it was a bad idea to even have trusted Johnny.

An Axe To Grind...

2004-12-26T23:02:00.000-08:00

Up until two days ago, my most prized possession in the whole world was my crusty old, beat-up Gibson Les Paul. Granted, mine wasn’t a super expensive, amazingly awesome Les Paul like you’d see Slash or Jimmy Page playing onstage. In fact, mine was just about the cheapest Les Paul you can get your hands on… and it was used when I bought it. Very used. Even at that, I‘d scrimped and saved ever since I started working at the Grotto to buy this thing, but it was mine: a nice, if somewhat worn Solid Black Les Paul Special. Bit of a buzz on the high E string at the second fret, a couple chips out of the body here and there, but that only added to the charm of this thing. Somebody’d played the hell out of that guitar, and it showed. They’d empowered it with all this good energy and (yes, I know that sounds really cheesy) gave it a soul of it’s own. The moment I plugged it into an amp, I fell in love with this thing.

Unfortunately, so did everybody else that saw it. Including Johnny’s backup band, the oddly-yet-appropriately named foursome called the Flappybats. I found them a while back playing covers in a bar (go figure!) and introduced them to Johnny. The odd thing about these guys is that I tend to get the impression that these guys A: Don’t much like Johnny, B: Are only agreeing to be in his band so they can hang out with me, and C: Would much rather be playing cover songs than playing the songs I wrote. Seriously, you should hear them freak out whenever they think they’ve learned, say, Sweet Child O’ Mine in it’s entirety.

“PennypennypennyPENNY listen!! Listen!! Listen to this, I’ve got the riff from ‘Black Dog’ down COLDlistenlistenlisten…”

Apparently their parents must've locked them in dark rooms and never paid attention to them, because these boys are seriously hurting for attention. That need to be seen does make them a great backup band for Johnny, though.
I know I’m going off on a tangent here…

Anyway, I made the mistake of leaving it out when Chip came over to work on some of the songs. The poor guy really doesn’t own a decent guitar. Currently the axe he gigs with, and I’m not exaggerating in the least here, is a $150 Epiphone that goes out of tune at the drop of a hat. Seriously, you look at this guitar funny, and it goes out of tune. The wind blows and this thing is out of tune…

So, Chip sees the Les Paul and just freaks. Within seconds, he’s begging to use the thing for their Christmas Eve show at the Vertigo Room.

“C’maaaan, c’maaaan Penny, lemme borrow it, c‘maaaaaannn… All the other guys have good guitars-- c‘maaaannn.”

You should’ve heard it, it was pathetic. Now, it’s been clearly established that I’m a sucker for pathetic losers, so naturally, I cave and agree to let him play the thing for their Christmas Eve show, on the condition that he guard it with his life, and treat it like it was his own.

Of course, I’d might as well have asked him to perform complex brain surgery with a rusty needle and a blowtorch, or figure out how cold fusion works, as the guitar had been stolen, lost, or incinerated before the band was done with their opening set.

I’m not sure what happened, but I know that there were a lot of strangers in the bar that night, and that, as usual, the band got completely tanked before playing a single note. On a good night, one of them will spill an entire beer on the pool table, and make no effort whatsoever to clean it up, only to cover it up until it dries or scoop the majority of the beer down the center pocket… I’m sure that’s lovely for the next bar patron who tries to use the pool table, but I’m going off on another tangent, I know.

I’ll try to rein it in again. Sorry.

The details of the story are unimportant. This once, it’s not about the journey, it’s the destination. And the destination was that my fucking guitar, that I’d only just gotten to know, was gone. And, since nobody knew what happened, it wasn’t coming back.

I was crushed. Of course, Slim offered to replace the guitar, but I know that with what he makes, I’ll be too old to play the thing before he can finally afford to buy a Les. He also offered to give me one of his guitars, but let’s face it, all of his guitars are crap. Nope, as far as I was concerned, that guitar was long, long gone.

The next morning, Johnny did his best to get my mind off it by taking me out on Christmas day.

The most romantic time to visit New York is during the Christmas season. The air is crisp, Santa manages to appear on practically every street corner, Christmas music rings out from every direction, and shoppers bustle in and out of every store and market. Every neighborhood in the city is decked out in its holiday finest, with wreaths on brownstone doorways and pine boughs wound luxuriously around wrought-iron fences. Sometimes it even snows, spreading a fluffy white coat over tired sidewalks and streets. It’s beautiful. And on Christmas Day, Johnny and I went for a walk through the coolest city ever, just to take it in before it all went away.

Being bored and broke in one of the boroughs, you end up finding pleasure in the small things. The things we can do that won’t break our tiny bank accounts. And so it was that, all bundled up in my hat, coat and scarf, we walked through the streets of Manhattan. Occasionally, I’d peer upward at bulidings so tall they touch the sky, dwarfing us, and giving the people on the street (well, me) perspective on just how small we really are in comparison to the world around us.

The air was crisp, and full of promise that morning, and I was able to completely forget the loss of my Gibson. Window shopping, taking in the decorated windows at Manhattan's most famous stores. It’s as much a holiday-time tradition here in the city as gift-giving itself.

Of course, we went to Rockefeller Center to see the tree, the icon of Christmas in New York City. Watched the skaters, and walked through the angel-decorated Channel Gardens to the east of the tree. I mean really, where else can you do all of this but here in the City? Nowhere. It was quite exhilarating, I had the time of my life.
This city embraces you, makes you feel good. Makes you forget all your problems, even when everything’s going as wrong as it can go.

That evening, we exchanged our humble gifts and spent the night in. It was the sort of evening when I might have gotten loaded and goofed around on guitar. Sadly, it was gone, and I was bummed all over again.
Ivan had invited us to the Grotto for something called “Boxing Day” the next morning. Apparently, it was a long-standing tradition in his family. Quite frankly, I had to look it up, as I had no idea that Boxing Day existed.
So we go to the Grotto at noon for lunch the day after Christmas, for Boxing Day. In the short time I’ve lived here in the City, Ivan’s become something of a substitute dad for me. He and Lola have always looked out for me from the moment I first crossed through the door of the bar just under a year ago. So, Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, arrives, and I’m still feeling pretty low about the loss of that guitar. I’d spoken to Ivan the night before, and was trying to get out of going… nothing doing, gotta go. Boss’s orders.

I’d been to Ivan’s house exactly once, back during the Blackout last summer. He had this awesome vintage ’59 Les Paul Standard that once belonged to Rick Nielsen. How cool is that? Once we got to the Grotto, I knew exactly why he was so insistent that I show up, because there he was, standing behind the bar, holding this amazing, awesome guitar in his hands.

Y’see, the thing with boxing day is that it‘s one of those traditions that nobody knows when it started, or where it really came from. But all of the stories do share a common thread: That of the lord of an estate, or a merchant, an employer or a church, giving to those less fortunate, their employees, or even just people in their charge.

I knew how much Ivan, Lola and everybody at the Grotto meant to me. I’m pretty sure they saved my life earlier this year when I met them. They mean everything to me. But up until I walked into the Grotto, all down in the dumps one day after Christmas, and saw Ivan standing there behind the bar, holding that sweet Vintage Les in his hands, with a big grin on his face, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d somehow weaseled my way into their hearts just as much as they’d gotten to me.

Ivan gave me that guitar on Boxing Day, just because he didn’t want me to be down. And you know what? It worked.

Big Starz!

2004-12-15T22:11:00.000-08:00

I think Johnny's gonna sign with BigStar records. They're a semi major label here in NYC. The biggest thing they have going for them is that they're very very excited about J's potential. They bought into the whole package. The songs, the look, the attitude.

I will say that I don't like the A&R guy, Dwayne. He's condescending, for starters and, well... I probably shouldn't say anything else about it, should I?

The exciting thing is that they're going to buy the songs too! They're cutting me a check and everything. I may have gotten ahead of myself, but I couldn't wait to sign that paper when they handed it to me. Barely even read it.

So now I'm officially a songwriter. And Johnny Guttersnipe is about to be Rock N' Roll's next big thing.

Wilco Book Release

2004-12-09T18:09:00.000-08:00

Oh. My. God.

One of the record label goons got Johnny an invitation to go to the book release party for Wilco's new book last night!! I don't know how to take these record label goons. Sometimes it seems like they're just throwing money at Johnny, trying to get into his good graces and keep him starstruck with the places they can take him, but I can't help but feel like they don't really have his best interests at heart. Most of them seem to just disregard me completely.

That said, it was amazing just to get to go to something like this. Got all dolled up in my best slinky black number and broke the halfway decent jewelry out for the occasion, in an effort to 'clean up well'. I love Wilco dearly, and I really wanted to get a chance to talk to the band and to get a copy of the book signed. We showed up super early.

When we got there, the gallery was pretty much empty. I immediately spotted, Jeff Tweedy, who was standing around with some friends, smoking an American Spirit. I restrained myself, but eventually went over and got the book signed and tried to strike up a conversation. It was kind'a humiliating, though, because the record label goon that was with us disdainfully introduced me as "Johnny's girlfriend." It's not that I mind the label per se, but it was the way he said it. Like that's all I am, like I'm some groupie-tart who's banging their little rock star in-training Fuck that guy, I'm a songwriter.

I didn't let label goon's attitude get me down, though. Tweedy was incredibly gracious, I somehow avoided the urge to be a complete stalker and ended up talking to him about performance anxiety. I know that's something he's struggled with in the past. It's certainly something that I struggle with myself.

The evening wasn't all wine and roses, though. I kind of lost track of Johnny for a few minutes, and when I caught up with him, he was hanging out with the record label goon and some chick. I find them, and she and Johnny were getting a little bit too cozy. It was an awkward moment, and I'm not quite sure what was going on.

Of course, as usual with Johnny lately, he blew the whole thing off and didn't say much. Still, I just can't shake the feeling that I walked into something shady there.

Mixed Feelings

2004-12-03T10:57:00.000-08:00

Things have been really weird the last couple of days...

On the one hand, everything's going really well on the music front. Johnny is booked to play somewhere just about every night of the week, for a few weeks in advance. Word's starting to get out that the kid's got some chops. You can tell that he's starting to get more comfortable up there on stage every night, which is good, because we've seen a couple of people from record labels taking in the shows.

So, why do I feel so apprehensive?

The other night at Alice's Grocery, Johnny was approached by a guy from one of the major labels. I don't wanna say who or which label, for fear of jinxing the deal. It was a really weird scene, although the guy was really cool towards J, he seemed downright dismissive of me.

For example, I'm sitting there at the table with this creep while the band's onstage, and he's all "damn honey look at you" all night long. Meanwhile, I'm trying to talk about the band, or the songs and stuff. I got the distinct impression that he was more interested in staring at my ass while I went to get him drinks, or putting his hand on my thigh whenever he'd lean over, uncomfortably close, to "ask" me to fetch the aforementioned drink.

What am I? A fucking waitress? The things I tolerate for the good of music, I swear...

Just about the time I'd had enough of him dismissing me like some sort of groupie-slut, J's set was over with and he came over to sit down.

I'd never been so ignored in my life after that. Record Label Weasel just hones in on J, telling him what the label can do for him if he'd sign, and J just sort'a goes along like I'm not even there.

I told him later, when we got home that the both of them made me feel insignificant, and he dismissed the thought completely. All he offered was a lame "Oh baby don't freak out. The guy was from a record label, what am I supposed to do, tell him to fuck off because he's not paying attention to you?"

Ugh, the whole conversation was pointless. All this time, I've felt like an equal partner in this adventure, but now I'm starting to feel like... I dunno, like maybe this could all end badly.

Macy's Parade

2004-11-25T15:28:00.000-08:00

Today was a perfect Thanksgiving. I drug everybody (Lola, Ivan, Johnny and yes, even Ivan's paranoid mother) out into the brisk November air so they could enjoy my first Macy's Thanksgiving day parade with me.

I'd never been to a big city parade like that. Those balloons are incredible! My favorite was either the Pink Panther, or Woodstock. Or Snoopy. Oh, I can't pick just one.

Anyway, we all loaded up with thermoses of steaming Hot Chocolate, bundled up and headed out onto the streets. The parade is one of my favorite things about Thanksgiving. Sure, I love being with my new family and I love the yummy turkey dinner, who doesn't? But when I was a little girl, I used to love lounging in a pair of comfty jammies, enjoying a good cup of cocoa and watching the parade. I have done that since I was a kid. I remember getting all excited to see the big turkey, the funny floats, the balloons that to me were larger than life....and then Santa came.

This year, I got to relive all of that magic by watching the smiles on the kids' faces, the glow in their eyes, and the sheer excitment that can only come from being so innocent... only in person

SpongeBob Squarepants, Red and Yellow M&Ms and Chicken Little were new balloons. Also, the Muppets and the cast of 'Sesame Street' were there, as well as a bunch of celebs, I'm sure.

But my favorite is either The Pink Panther balloon... or Snoopy... or maybe Wodstock...! Oh, don't mind me, I'm all hopped up on cocoa!

Word Of Mouth is a good thing...right?

2004-11-17T23:23:00.000-08:00

Some record label people have been coming to Johnny's shows lately. I guess it's safe to say that he's starting to build an audience.

Still, these folks are kind'a creepy. Something about them doesn't sit right.

Bowery Show

2004-10-16T22:56:00.000-07:00

Apparently, word's slowly getting out about this new band that we've put together. Johnny got a call the other day from the guy who books shows at the Bowery Ballroom on Delancey, between Christie St & The Bowery.

There have been so many great bands who've played the Bowery, it's amazing. And now Johnny's gonna get to play there, taking the first slot opening for Son Volt.

Ryan Adams

2004-10-01T17:47:00.000-07:00

I made Johnny take me to see Ryan Adams last night at the Beacon Theatre.

I see him and Parker hanging out on the Lower East Side all the time and I've always wanted to go say hi or something, but I dunno how he is with fans. Probably not good, he seems kind'a moody for a boy. And I'm sure the last thing Parker Posey needs to deal with is a groupie-girl following her and her boyfriend around when they're out shopping or whatever.

Anyway, he's been laying low for the past several months, since he broke his wrist while he was on tour, so I didn't know what to expect from the show. I figured he might be kind'a rusty from so much inactivity... then again, one never knows what one's getting from a Ryan Adams show. He could be feeling cranky and spend the whole night alienating himself from the audience, or when he takes the whole prozac he's downright amazing.

I'm happy to say that last night, he was closer to the latter. You could tell he was nervous, and his wrist seemed to be bothering him, but all in all it was a nice show. His backup band, the Cardinals, rocked. Nice to see two chicks in the band.

Upcoming Shows

2004-09-27T23:05:00.000-07:00

Whew! What a week I'm having. Johnny's got a few dates coming up, figured I'd post them here for you fine people:

11/3 Delancey's

11/10 The Bitter End
147 Bleecker Street (between Thompson Street & Laguardia Place

11/15 Mercury Lounge
217 E Houston Street (between Ludlow & Essex)

Also, if anybody wants to post a review of a show, feel free to post it in the comments.

AOR Show Aftermath

2004-09-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

Wow.

Johnny opened up for this band called Army of Robots last night at Delancey's, the show was incredible. I'll post more as soon as I sober up.

2004-09-20T23:01:00.000-07:00

The Bowery show went off without a hitch.

While Johnny was doing his set, I ended up talking to Jim Boquist, the bass player for Son Volt. He also plays in Paul Westerberg's touring band. Jim's a really nice guy to talk to, and he seemed to dig Johnny's band and the songs.

The crowd seems to be warming to Johnny, and he seems to be growing more comfortable with the material each show. Wish he could get some more shows in, but he's been doing about one a week lately.

2004-09-19T22:29:00.000-07:00

Johnny's gonna be playing at the Delancey again this Saturday, opening for Army of Robots.

Johnny takes the stage about 9:00, it should be a great show. Hope to see you there!

First Show

2004-09-09T03:03:00.000-07:00

Johnny's first show was last night at The Delancey Bar and Nightclub on Delancey Street

It may not be CBGB back in the day, but then again nothing ever will, I'm sure. But this gig and this venue exceeded everybody's expectations. The Delancey, as a venue, is new, but it's well on it's way to becoming a legendary venue here in the City.

A lot of the new, upstart bands have been playing here. I figured 'what the hell', right? If you're gonna debut a rock band somewhere, you'd might as well not be meek. Might as well just throw caution to the wind and go where all the snotty young punks that are trying to make a name are playing, and kick 'em in the teeth.

This place is all about ambience, which is cool. A lot of clubs here in town are kind'a dank, and, well... they're crapholes. I'm told that the basement, which is where the performance space is, is reminiscent of the old Coney Island High. It's populated by punk-rock revivalists in all-black clothing.

Johnny and his band took the stage first, tearing through a set of mostly originals that was peppered with just enough nods to guys like Thunders or really old Replacements that the world could tell where they were coming from. Everybody was dead on. I was watching from backstage, and I could tell that, even though they were the opening act, people seemed to be sitting up and taking notice of these guys. It was the kind of hot, sweaty, snotty rock and roll show that you can't help but pay attention to. I am so very proud of them all.

I met some really nice people there, hopefully a couple of you found your way to this site and are reading this!

It was a great show, and before the second band took the stage, the closing act was already inviting Johnny back for another show.

I think we're on to something!

It's all in the name

2004-08-14T03:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, clearly I was not born with the name Penny Heartbreaker. That needs to be established right off the bat.

I made that name up on my own. Actually, I think everybody should do the same thing. Just pick your own name when you decide that you've got a good one, and from that point on, well...that's who you are.

I bring this up because the other night, I had a talk with my friend Eugene about his name. It had to go, that name. It just isn't a rock n' roll name. I told him that, if we were gonna make a rock star of him, he'd have to come up with a better name. After several long awkward minutes of him staring at me, utterly dumbfounded, I suggested Johnny, as a sort of semi-tribute to Johnny Thunders. The problem was coming up with a last name: Johnny Bam, Johnny Rock, Johnny Dagger, any and all pseudo badass names were thrown out, and rejected, most of them on the grounds that they were ridiculous. I kind'a liked Johnny Nowhere, but he liked Johnny Guttersnipe, on the grounds that he liked the word Gutter.

Sigh, whatever. It's not that bad, I guess. If anyone out there has a better idea, post it here, maybe we'll use it.

Rivers Cuomo

2004-08-10T22:37:00.000-07:00

OMG, I think he's lost his mind!

Merga-who?

2004-08-10T05:02:00.000-07:00

I saw the coolest band the other night. At least, I think it was a band sometimes.

The name of the act was Mergatron, but in reality it was this guy named Doug. At first, I thought "Wow, that's a pretty ballsy move, for one guy to get up onstage with a name like that", but then someone explained that he was doing an acoustic set with a sideman that evening, but that he normally does have a bass player and a drummer.

Anyway, the show was really good. Great songs with lyrics that seemed to mean something, all performed well. The singer seemed really cool and likeable, which is important when you're watching a performer. I've seen a lot of people up there that were all-too hateable. Seeing the acoustic set made me wonder what the full band sounded like. I'll have to check up on their website from time to time, perhaps I could catch a show with the whole band.

After Mergatron was a band called Balls. These guys (and girl) rocked. That's right, it was a four-piece punk band fronted by a badass blonde chick. It was like the Ramones being fronted by a young Debbie Harry or something. Just awesome, and it made me wanna write punk songs.

Thinking In Text

2004-08-09T16:55:00.000-07:00

My friend Eugene played one of my songs (What's It Gonna Be, to be exact) the other night. He spent a couple days really trying in earnest to learn the song and be true to the spirit of the way it was written.

And you know what? He was pretty good. I was sitting there watching from backstage thinking, "I can make this guy famous." I mean, really. All he really needs is a new look, maybe a little bit of swagger, and the right songs and he'd be set.

I've got the songs, and any number of rock stars let their girlfriends dress them. By girlfriend I mean "friend who is a girl", of course. Then again, I've been spending a lot of time with this kid... and it's not like I have that many prospects.

Anyway...now that I think of it, maybe I should have a talk with Mister Brown about partnering up on this music thing. I could write the songs, he could sing 'em...

Strokes

2004-08-07T00:41:00.000-07:00

So, I was looking for a photo of Julian Casablanca (great name, wonder if it's for real) to show Johnny, and I came across this article. Apparently he's single again.

I don't get it with this guy. He looks like a pothead or Droopy Dog or something. Decent songs, though.

Maybe There's Still Some Hope

2004-07-31T22:28:00.000-07:00

I hung out with Eugene again today, which is always fun. We ended up kicking around the Village for awhile, and then went back to his apartment and played some songs. I asked him if he'd like to learn one of mine, and maybe then at least he could play it the next time he plays at an open mic.

He was into it, so I taught him a new one I was working on: What's It Gonna Be. It's kind'a Westerbergian/Ryan Adams song. Anyway, we played for quite awhile. I think I'm developing a crush.

Girls Night Out

2004-07-27T15:12:00.000-07:00

I had promised Lola I would go to out with her this week. So, tonight, Lola, her friend Felicia and I , all went out to this bar called the Vertigo Room.

When we arrived, the place was packed and loud. Seriously. You could barely get through the crowd at all. I lost count of how many times I got grabbed on the way through. So I walk in, and I'm passing by this stranger, when he grabs me and pulls me her over his way, as if I know him and want him pawing all over me. I just turn around, give him the stinkeye and push him away. No fuss. No words. Nothing.

So then, it turns out he's friends with that guy Eugene that I met last week, and he wasn't trying to grope all over me or anything. He was very apologetic, so he must have felt bad, but still, I dunno about that guy. I told him he should probably tap people on the shoulder to get their attention, as opposed to yanking them over my way.

The most memorable moment of the night was at the end. I'm standing on the dance floor with Lola and her friend when some random girl, walking through the crowd, stops and starts starring at Lola. Now, I was trying to figure out if I knew her or not, but I was sure I didn’t. She kept looking at us though, like we should know her. So I just came out and asked if I knew her, and asked her name. Her friend told me her name was Jennifer, before they both stormed off. At this point I was worried I had offended someone, or like, maybe I'd done something a different night to piss her off and didn't remember. I decide to go look for her.

I come back to the spot we were dancing to find Eugene's friend Simon, with the two girls. I pulled her over and asked her, “How do I know you?” Her reply, “I don’t know you, stop hitting on my boyfriend!” Yes, girls can be stupid, but what can you do. I was reminded of my talk with Ivan about the ladies room. I laughed to myself and left Simon to dance with his girl and her friend, while I wandered about.

We left late and loitered outside for a bit, talking to people as they left. We saw so many people on their way out. The two girls also left without incident, Simon in tow. I'm still not sure he wasn't up to something... I sat and chatted with Lola and Felicia for awhile before we ended up splitting for the night.

Cover Boy

2004-07-22T17:54:00.000-07:00

So... I told you that Eugene was a musician, right?

Well, he is, sort'a. But all he plays are cover songs. He's good at them, don't get me wrong, but I dunno. Seems to me that he'd have a good shot at making it if he just worked on his image and wrote some songs. He says he's tried, but he just can't do it.

I like this guy. A lot. He's really genuine, really sincere, and he listens when I talk. Listening when someone talks is always a good quality. He's fun to be around, so I've been hanging out with him a lot this last week.

...wonder if he'd play one of my songs if I gave it to him?

Well, At Least I Met Somebody New...

2004-07-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit it: my psychology has got the best of me, I can't get up onstage without having some sort of panic attack. The other night was the worst. I couldn't even get through a single song before I just flat out panicked and burst into tears right there.

So, I'm sobbing openly in front of an audience of about a hundred drunks at the Grotto, and I ended up dropping my guitar and running offstage and hiding in the office for about an hour. At some point, I had dropped my notebook, the one I write all my songs in. There are others, but that's the one I've been using for the last year, kind of a part journal, part notebook for this blog, and any song or song idea that I've had for the last year or so. That just destroyed me.

I decided to just sit at the bar and get completely wasted. So right there at my darkest moment, a nice boy named Eugene came over to me with my notebook! He'd picked it up after I dropped it and wanted to make sure I got it back okay. As it turns out, he'd seen, like, every single awful performance that I've done here at the Grotto. Eugene is a musician too. He liked my songs, even from what little he was able to hear, despite my shaky (at best) performance of them.

We talked all night, eventually going out somewhere and getting some food, and he helped me clean the bar after everyone left. I think we're going to hang out on Friday.

I Should Have My Head Examined

2004-06-24T07:41:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had a full-on monster panic attack onstage. It was an utterly terrifying experience, which leaves me unsure what I'm going to do from this point. I thought I was gonna die!

I basically ended up stumbling offstage before I could even sit down, and sort'a passed out over by the bar. I woke up in the office on the couch with Lola and Ivan staring at me all worried n' stuff. They thought they were gonna have to call a doctor, which would suck as I have no health insurance.

2004-06-23T13:50:00.000-07:00

I just can't give up. I can't allow myself to just quit on account of this stage fright, bad as it is. My music, the possibility of somehow getting over this is pretty much the only thing that's keeping me going. It's the only thing I ever wanted to do.

IF I can break this-- this-- whatever it is, and become comfortable onstage, then I just know I can be happy. Even if I just get to play in little bars here in the city. I just want this so badly it hurts.

I'm trying again tonight.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Panic!!!

2004-06-16T03:35:00.000-07:00

I've never been so humiliated in my entire life.

I totally lost it again when I tried to perform in front of an audience. I could feel my chest getting tight as my turn was coming up. Couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe. By the time I went up there, Lola says I was as white as a ghost (as if that's hard, I'm kind'a pale), and my eyes were a bit glassy.

I don't remember much about playing. I'm told that I did, and I was assured that it was an okay performance, but you never know if people are just saying that to be nice, so whatever...

Lola was telling me that she thinks I'm having actual panic attacks when I go to perform. It makes sense, but it doesn't make it any easier to get over the fact that the one thing I want to do more than anything is causing me to freak out.

Guess I'll try again next week.

Cautious, But Hopeful...

2004-06-15T13:03:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna try to perform again tomorrow. Everybody's convinced me to just get back in the saddle, pick up my guitar and go try again.

It's all I've been able to think about all day, and tomorrow won't be any different. Cross your fingers for me.

Insomnia

2004-06-14T04:39:00.000-07:00

I have had a lot of trouble sleeping lately.

Actually the sleeping is going quite well, it's the "staying there" that's the problem. Not the hugest deal in the world but I have suddenly become an extremely light sleeper. A pin drops a mile away and I wake up... toss,turn,toss,turn.... then sleep, then wake...grrrr...very annoying.

Last night after wake-up number 4, I decided to quit trying to sleep. I just laid there looking at the patterns in the tacky ceiling of the Grotto's office. That was so much less frustrating...! It occurs to me that until my current live-work situation, there were many nights I'd stay up all night writing songs. I loved that. I was very tempted last night but, as I feel somewhat like a zombie today, I'm glad I didn't.

It seems obvious that any sleep issues are related to the array of topics taxing my mind and therefore only temporary. I'm starting to relax about playing on Wednesday - I knew on Saturday that the only thing I could do was ride out the various emotions... put a pillow over my head... still not feeling 100% yet, but so much better.

Confused

2004-06-13T05:04:00.000-07:00

I don't know where my head is at this point. I don't know what to think about anything. I wish life wasn't this complicated.

2004-06-12T18:02:00.000-07:00

Tommy Stinson said it best: Friday Night Is Killing Me.

One of my favorite single-girl things to do now is to NOT go out friday nights lately. For some reason, bars are full of bridge-and-tunnelers with bad pick-up lines. Unfortunately, in order to not go out on Friday Night, I have to stay at “home”. And “home” for me is a bar, so I’m out even when I’m not out.

Last night, all I really wanted to do was go home, listen to Wilco, drink red wine, all while sashaying around the living room in my undies. but that basically folded into Wilco while I was cooking my Kraft mac dinner, and then falling asleep in the office when the sun came up.
Ok. So I've decided that since I don't really know HOW to date casually, maybe I should learn. Can anybody tell me how that works? I'm the kind of girl who usually waits to date somebody until a crush develops...or at the least until I get drunk and accidentally smooch a crush... so any help will be appreciated!

The Cloisters

2004-06-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

The weekend brought absolutely blissful weather. I was out in my strappy sandals, strolling the sunny streets of Manhattan. I wound up going way uptown to 190th street to take in the Cloisters. Never been there before, and Lola had been going on and on about it for the better part of the week. Apparently, she’s decided that she is my cultural guide to New York. My guru, if you will. She means well.

For the uninformed, the Cloisters is the branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art devoted to the art and architecture of medieval Europe. The creation of the Cloisters was made possible thanks to the generosity of John D Rockefeller Jr, who donated the land, and the building, as well as some of the collections itself.I took the A train to get there and emerged in the Garden of Eden. No, literally, I couldn't believe I was still in New York City. This part of town was slightly elevated and covered in greenery On my right, far down below, were the glistening waters of the Hudson River. To my left was an actual playground, with actual children. I actually had the urge to jump on the swings... I absolutely love swing sets! Then again, girl in miniskirt on a swingset probably equals bad idea.

Off in the distance stood a large and imposing structure that could have been a medieval castle. Overwhelmed and excited, I began my slow hike (in my strappy sandals) up the park, pretending I was a medival princess lost in an enchanted forest. That daydream soon went out the window when the sounds of traffic from the West Side highway reached my ears. Well, at least I confirmed I was still in Manhattan.After fifteen minutes of trekking through the park, I reached the entrance of the museum. The Cloisters was designed and built as a museum of works of art from the Middle Ages. With its somewhat gothic architecture and sprawling layout, I couldn't believe the building had been built in the last century. Some of the doorways and arches were actual medieval pieces though, brought over from parts of Europe and incorporated into the fabric of the building.I started out in the Romanesque Hall, gaping at the twelfth-century Spanish frescoes and the French and Italian wood sculptures. On to the Langon Chapel... where the architectural elements were once part of the twelfth-century church of Notre Dame.

I ogled the gorgeous stained-glass windows from thirteenth-and fourteenth-century France. The Bonnefont Cloister, which was fashioned as a medieval courtyard actually had a herb garden that contained 250 species of plant cultivated in the Middle Ages. My favorite exhibit was the Unicorn Tapestries, depicting the hunt and capture of the unicorn, woven in Brussels in about 1500. I was also in complete awe of the gothic architecture: the columns and carvings, the panel and wall paintings, and the ornate and intricate structures that characterized that particular time period.I left the museum and the park feeling gratified and refreshed by the brief respite from 21st century New York and with a spring in my step at the prospect of the approaching summer.Nonetheless, after returning to grimy civilization, I declared myself Lola’s drinking guru, and dragged her to a rock show at Alice’s Grocery. Band called Mergatron.

Penny's Wicked Grotto Love-Mojo

2004-05-28T10:38:00.000-07:00

Hey. Sorry I've been gone, I had to sulk and pout (and work) for awhile. I'm better now. I think.

Just sat and watched at open mic last night. Bunch of people, most of 'em regulars, told me not to sweat it, and that I should just get my butt back up there and try again. "Probably a fuke or just a bad night, everybody has 'em" blah blah blah... I probably will try again, I just wanted to hang again last night.

Tonight, I saw some kids that purported to be a hardcore band playing a free show at this art gallery down the street. That band sucked. I mean, as those types of bands go, they weren't all that bad. But, fuck, how angry can a white kid from the suburbs be? Kid had a $3000 drum kit. Fucking Zildjian cymbals all around. Lighten up kid, you got it easy.

Some girls tanding next to me got her head split open by the neanderthal who was moshing where he shouldn't have been. Seriously, what the fuck do they have to be so angry about? Me, I have legitimate anger. I've been sitting at the bar for the last hour, waiting for the last two customers to pass out or be thrown out. The idiot next to me keeps saying he wants to see some 'titty-witty' and then glaring over in my direction. I will punch this dope in the neck if he doesn't knock it off. He's about to be thrown out anyway.

The lady to my right is locked out of her hotel room down the street. She keeps calling her boyfriend on the phone and randomly screaming at his voicemail. Apparently he gave her the slip and went to a strip club. I heard her call him a 'fucking assbag' just now. I dunno what that is either, so don't ask me.

Maybe I should take this bar skank into the ladies room, fix her makeup and stuff like Molly Ringwald did for Ally Sheedy in "The Breakfast Club". After that, I'd just have to point her at the 'titty-witty' guy and voila! Instant love connection. They'd leave happy and drunk, and I could leave this pigsty and go to bed.

Enter... The Ladies' Room of Death!

2004-05-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

My first day working at the Grotto, I asked Ivan what the worst part about working there was. He told me, without hesitation, that it was dealing with the stuff that goes down in the women's bathroom, something which happens with a surprisingly high degree of regularity.

He said that he's had infinitely more fights in the ladies' facilites than in the men's, and that he'd never been able to figure out exactly why.

I dold him it was because all women secretly hate one another, and that the close quarters of the ladies' room is a powder keg poised to detonate.

Guys, for the most part, don't come into the bathroom intending to cause problems. After waiting in line for several minutes, most male customers are so intent upon emptying their bladders that starting a fight is the furthest thing from their minds. Sure, occasionally you've got the junkies and scumbags who only want to get into a stall to do drugs or whatever, which, although not exactly a good thing, doesn't generally lead to trouble. Most customers who come to clubs carrying drugs tend to keep a low profile, wary of being 'shaken down' by the bouncer should they cause a problem.

On the other hand, the women's bathroom doesn't seem to provide users with the same measure of quietude and solace, a fact which would come as a shock to most of the male customers at the Grotto. Every single night, I see at least a dozen guys lingering in the general vicinity of the ladies' room, forming a reciving line of sorts, for all the hot chicks who've just gotten off the bowl. I've never quite understood this approach to meeting people, partly because it seems like an act of desperation for the simpleton who can't get women to talk to him, but primarily because I've yet to see it work.

"Mom, dad, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Vito."

"Oh, he's a real prize, honey, where'd you two meet?"

"Well, I was on my way out of the bathroom at the club, and he grabbed me by the hair... I was just smitten! Isn't he a dreamboat?!?"

The point here is that most men think the women's bathroom at a nightclub is some mysterious garden of earthly delights, where beautiful, half-naked women prance to and fro, engaging in the ritual beautification of their luminous faces and virginal bodies. Scads of Guidos stand waiting outside the door, leering, straining for a glimpse of the goings-on inside, which to them represent the culmination of an entire week's 'manly' preparation. The ugly silk shirt, the hair glue, the eyebrow waxing--it all comes down, in the end, to what's transpiring behind that door.

If you work there, you know better. Ever since Ivan and I had that discussion, I've come to realize that the women's bathroom is the very heart of all unsavory nightclub behavior. The epicenter. The hive. The majority of fights occurring in the club, when traced back to their origins, have something to do with a woman. Most of the nastiest exchanges I've had with customers, in my limited time there, have been with particularly annoying women. Most of the women who come to the Grotto are stupid, provincial 'bridge and tunnel sluts', for some reason.

Since I've worked there, there's been a problem in the ladies' room every single night. Ivan told me that in the five years he's owned the place, there's been a fight in the mens' room exactly twice, and of those, only one actually began there. The other involved a guy being chased into one of the stalls by bouncers after having started a fight on the dance floor, and can't, as a result, be categorized as a 'bathroom incident'.

Anyway, it's Saturday night, about 2am, and Ivan yells up to the bar, where I'm sitting and talking to Lola. The scene went something like this:

One'a you girls get back here!"

"Huh?!?" I say.

"There's a problem in the ladies room and I don't wanna go in there." Great. We go back, and he tells us that a door to one of the stalls had been locked for several minutes, with someone inside, and nobody was responding to them knocking on it. Ivan had the key, but he didn't wanna go busting in there if she just passed out on the toilet, y'know? So I take the key and open the door.

Oh, god...

The first thing I noticed was that she had the cutest shoes. She was also sprawled out on the floor, asleep in a puddle of what I'm assuming was her own urine, her lovely head resting serenely in a pool of vomit. I scream and utter something pithy like "EEEUUUUUUU GROSS! Is she breathing?!?"

"Yeah" said Ivan flatly. "C'mere and help me get her up."

"Aw FUCK, she shit herself!!!" I squeal. (I am so good in a crisis situation.)

"Dude, she's awake."

"Fuck THAT. Take her ID and have the DJ page her friends. I ain't touchin' her."

We took all due precautions to make sure she hadn't been drugged, injured or assaulted, as it turns out, she hadn't. She was simply a dimwitted barskank who'd had too much to drink, too quickly, and had passed out on the toilet, puking and losing control of her bowels in the process. Her friends, lovely women that they were, got all up in MY face, attempting to compensate for their apparent lack of concern by blaming the staff for the state in which she was found.

They are doing this as I am cleaning up their bestest pal's foulitude from the nice, cool tile floor of the bathroom. Further proving that an inordinate number of bar conflicts start in the women's room. One of them called me an asshole.

"I'm not the one who didn't notice that my friend was still in the bathroom a half an hour after she left, but I'm the asshole?"

"Fuck you. She should sue this fucking place."

"Fuck me?" I say. "That's lovely. Instead of screaming at me, why don't you ladies pick her up out of her feces and get her the fuck out of here?"

After another round of "fuck you's" were uttered by all involved parties, the skanks leave. I'm ankle deep in her mess, and they're all up in my face about it. I didn't get all fucked up at the bar, but I'll tell you what...great idea for a song.

She'll live forever in all her glory. Good thing I found her ID on the floor after, or I wouldn't be able to mention her by name.

Argh!

2004-05-07T04:14:00.000-07:00

Well...tonite was a disaster. After what happened at the Hideout, I had this sinking feeling all day that it would be, but still I was completely unprepared for what was gonna happen when I finally got onstage. I kept telling myself all day that everything would work out in the end. Right, Penny, right.

I ended up sticking around the bar all night watching the other people play. I usually do that, because some of them are really, really good. Before I know it, it's my turn. I'm ready...or so I think, so I go up there and get announced.

I say thanks and...well that's pretty much where the whole thing goes straight to hell. I start, and my hands are, like, totally shaking. My chest feels tight and I'd swear I was seeing stars from the moment I sat down.

Wouldn't you know it, but this stupid three-dollar metal/plastic thumbpick gets caught in my 3rd string ('cause I'm nervous) and now it's bent after 4 seconds of music. I can't breathe. At this point, I'm thinking "I gotta get rid of this thing!!" I do, totally losing the rhythm, of course, and then the low E string comes out of the saddle like it only could at a time like this...so I gotta pop that back in. Amidst the silence that should have been filled with music, (this being an open mic night) I can hear people out there muttering and staring at me while I do it.

So by now I'm a total wreck. I never got my shit together after that. I knew that there was no way I'd get over this and complete the 3-song set I'd intended. I'd barely even begun the first song, and already it was spiraling out of control. The worst part was that I was completely aware of the fact that there were people watching me. Painfully aware. I looked out at them, and I knew they were thinking "Who is this chick? She doesn't know what the hell she's doing."

I knew that's what they were thinking because, quite frankly, it was what I was thinking.

After a few awkward seconds of me staring at the audience like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, and them staring blankly back at me, I gave up. Just gave up. I said "thank you" and slinked off the stage, completely embarrassed.

AAAAARRRGH!!!

Two Days Till Tomorrow...

2004-05-05T05:43:00.000-07:00

Well, considering it's only Wednesday, I've had a pretty incredible week. By this time tonight, I will have finally and officially become a musician. That's right, I'm taking the plunge tonight. Tonight, I'm gonna play at the Grotto's open mic night.

Sunday and Monday I spent putting up flyers for the show tonight. Anywhere I could find: other bars, a blues club, cafes. Ivan paid me $20 if I got 'em all up, so I did. I think that means I've been promoted to 'concert promoter' for the Grotto.

Tuesday night I stopped by the Hideout, it's the coolest dive bar ever, where my favorite band plays weekly every Tuesday. They call themselves the Plastic Flappybats. Replacements covers, some Wilco. I go see them every Tuesday night now. The crowd was small, but these guys played like there was a hundred people in the bar. I'd told them that I wanted to be a songwriter, so they asked me if I wanted to sit-in for a song after the crowd had thinned out to two drunk guys in the back. Of course, I was too shy to do it, but still I went home ecstatic that they even asked. One of these days...

I went 'home' and recorded 3 songs on my computer, just so I could hear how they sounded. I still hope I can suck it up and actually play in front of an audience, but now that it's imminent, I'm not sure if I will be able to. I wish I'd have played at the Hideout when I'd had the chance tonight-- why couldn't I??

Why couldn't I just get up onto the stage and play songs with my friends? I was totally petrified. Hopefully nothing like that'll happen tomorrow.

I've seen the Grotto's open mic night three times now. I get strangely nervous at some of the worst open mics, I don't know why, it's probably an ego thing, me thinking I'm this badass singer/songwriter...meanwhile I've never played any of my songs in front of anybody, and I still dunno if I'll even be able to when the time comes.

Could be a disaster. Anyway, I have to get some sleep. Midnight's a long way away, it'll be at least that late before I get to play.

The Grotto

2004-04-21T05:50:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from my little back room cubbyhole behind the bar. It's six in the morning, the sun is coming up and I just got finished restocking everything. I'm, like, totally exhausted, but I had to sit down and write about this before I completely die for the morning. My fever's starting to abate, so I've upgraded my condition from "dying" to "feels like shit".

This isn't bad at all. Free place to stay and my days are free, all I have to do is clean this dive for four straight hours after closing. Thankfully tonight, there was no vomit, and relatively few broken glasses and bottles. The ahstrays are just horrible, though. I hate it when someone puts their gum in one of them. Ick

The bar usually doesn't open 'til about three in the afternoon, depending on when Lola gets here. I usually hang out till she and Roz (she's the waitress) come in, and then I make myself scarce till after midnight. It usually thins out about then, so I come back and talk to the regulars and Lola and Roz. everybody's really cool here, even Ivan. It's kind of a dive, but it's a decent mix of people. Hipster guys, guys in suits and professional drunks all come here to get good and tanked on a nightly basis.

Anyway, the bar has an open mic night on Wednesday night, Ivan said I could play one of my songs if I wanted. I've been writing a lot lately, and I think I've come up with sme cool stuff. Still, I've never played in front of an audience before, so I'm kind'a freaked out by that part.

Workin' Girl

2004-04-13T05:29:00.000-07:00

I have a J.O.B.!! Which means I won't have to go crawling back to Nowhere. Even better, I have a place to stay, which means I can stop sleeping in bus stations and libraries, and there's no chance in hell that I'll have to resort to living like a Morlock behind a subway station!! Who knows, I might be able to fend off Pneumonia if I'm lucky.

The funny thing is, I actually have the Mid-Manhattan Library to thank for all this. If I hadn't been sleeping in the Reference section the other day, I'd hever have met Lola. She was the one who told me about a job they had at the bar she works at.

The tricky thing about sleeping in a library is that, although they're much nicer and quieter than your average bus station, you have to sleep durin gthe day, 'cause, well, that's when they're open. ALso, there's constantly some book nazi coming over and telling you that you can't sleep there. So, if you're gonna take up residence within the New York public Library system, you have to be slick about it. My strategy was simple: Don't go to the same Library twice in a row, find a nice quiet corner, and at least try to look like you're there for a legitimate purpose.

It's a lot of work, but it beats sleeping ni bus stations with the bums and the perverts. Besides, after traipsing around in subway tunnels and whatnot, I was sick as a dog. I desperately needed a place to sleep. Or at least a place to crawl up and die.

I had a book propped up in front of me to hide behind, while I used another open book as my pillow. I figured I'd looke like I was some geek who just got bored reading books about UFO's. Problem was, I guess I must've been snoring or talking in my sleep or something. I know I had a fever, I was burning up and yet shivering, god only knows what I was saying.

Lola wwas there researching a paper, and came over to tell me to knock it off. I apologized, like, five hundred times, and we struck up a conversation. I think she was just worried that I didn't have anywhere to go (which was true) or that I was maybe on drugs or running from somebody. She tried not to be too obvious, but I could tell that she knew something was up with the soaking wet, ghostly white street urchin she was talking to.

Anyway, like I said, we started talking, mostly just venting about how crappy our lives were. Lola is a student at NYU, she works at this bar called the Grotto over in St.Mark's Place to pay for rent and books. The guy who cleans the place after closing just took of on 'em a couple days earlier, and they've had a rough go of it ever since. Something about an inheritance, or moving out to the desert, nobody's really quite sure what happened to him, other than that he was there one night, and the next night, he was gone. none of that's important anyway. What is important is that they were totally screwed without this guy there to clean the place. Lola was having to work over after her shift to clean up and set things up for the next nigh. She was worried that if it went on too much longer, her grades might suffer.

Exhausted, sick, feverish and scared, I spilled my whole story. I really don't want to go home. I want to stay here, maybe start playing some of the songs I've written, and see if it turns into anything, but the outlook was starting to look pretty grim. I was completely out of money. That's when Lola suggested that maybe I could take whats'isname's job. They had a room in the back where I could stay, and I could make a few bucks by cleaning the bar and setting up for the next evening. She dragged me right over there to talk to her boss Ivan.

Just like Lola, Ivan took one look at me and realized just how pathetic I am. I'll take pity, I'm not proud. Not anymore.

So here I am, warm and snug, sleeping on the sofa in the office of a bar called the Grotto. I spent the last three hours cleaning vomit and glass off the floor and restocking the bar with a fever of about a hundred and fifty. The sun's coming up and I'm just now getting to bed, but for the first time since I got here, I'll be able to get more than a half an hour of uninterrupted sleep.

No, it isn't glamorous by any means, but it'll work till I can get on my feet.

'Night

Subway Excursion - Finis

2004-04-04T12:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, here's where the story gets a little creepy.

It starts getting a little later on in the afternoon, the trains are starting to get more crowded...so by this time it's not quite so much fun. So, I tell Dex that I'm gonna just head back and call it a day. He agrees to go with me, that's right, "for protection". We get off at the next stop. As I got up to exit, I tripped as I was navigating the crowd, and accidentally 'kicked' this sleeping guy's foot. He wakes up, looks at me, and punches me in the arm!

I'm serious, the jackass punches me in the arm. Guy in a suit, god what a creep.

Anyway, I said I was sorry, and his response to that was to take a second swing at me. He misses this time. My response, not that I'm proud of this, was to swing back and clobber him with my purse. Hitting someone with my purse is a lot like hitting someone with the spare tire to a small car. They're about the same size, and as that purse contains pretty much everything I own at this point, it weighs about as much. Just flattens the guy. So here's the rub: I really hauled off and hit the guy. I didn't have the greatest footing, what with all the people's feet and everything... so I kind'a lose control of the purse (and myself), and stumble out the door, off the train, falling flat on my butt on the subway platform just as the door closes.

I can see the guy I belted pointing and laughing at me as the train took off-- what a jerk!

When I fell, I dropped my purse. It skidded to a halt just a few feet away from me. As I was trying to get to my feet to pick it up and see where Dex got to, this skeevy looking bum runs by and takes off with the damn thing! That's like, all my stuff, so I scream and am trying to get on my feet to chase this guy down. Dex, who as we have clearly established, fancies himself my protector, takes off after the guy. By the time I get up and start chasing after them, they've both got a good head start on me. Luckily, I'm about two feet taller than Dex, so he was easy to catch. I didn't want anything to happen to the kid.

Losing my purse, I can deal with, but I'd never be able to forgive myself if I got that kid hurt.

I'd say within a minute, we were lost. Big time lost. The bum took off down some little cranny, and before I know it, we're like, in the batcave or something. Totally creepy. My sidekick tells me that the guy must be a Mole. Apparently there's thousands of these guys living underground in a labyrinth of caverns that extend way beyond the subway stops. I really thought this was fiction, but it isn't. They're like, the most dangerous and unstable of all the cities homeless.

Figuring my stuff is just gone forever, I kind'a break down. No, scratch that, I totally break down. That was all of my stuff. My clothes, what little money I had left, even this laptop was in there. And on top of that, I was just tired, scared and lost. I'm bawling like a baby, telling Dex (in vain, as it turns out), to go back before he gets hurt. Of course he doesn't listen to me and I can't turn back and take him because if I do, then I'll never get my stuff back.

And, of course, we're stuck down there in these cold, wet caverns with the New York Subway Rats, which I'm told are genetically engineered to be incredibly huge. I've never been so scared in my entire life.

And then we come across this guy's little hovel. A filthy old mattress on the ground, trash all over the place, it was really bad. Even worse, the guy was there. The second we're face to face, I realize just how stupid it was to have even chased after this guy. The glassy, panicked look on his eyes told me that he was crazy. as if his erratic behavior wasn't enough of a tip-off. And now that we followed him back there, he felt cornered. He could've killed the both of us, and nobody would've ever even thought to look for us down there.

So we stood there, barely able to even see one another in the dark, for what seemed like forever. Somehow, I'm able to convince this guy to give me my stuff back, and not to hurt either of us. I dunno why, maybe he just realized that he was stealing from someone who really wasn't much better off than him, maybe he just cut me a break.

It took us forever to find our way back to the subway platform. After that, I just wanted to go home, take a hot bath and go to sleep in hopes of forgetting this ever happened. Sadly, I have none to go to, so I made sure that Dex got home safely, and went on my way to find somewhere to post this.

All of a sudden, it's lonely here.

Subway Excursion - Part 3

2004-04-03T23:55:00.000-08:00

Famished, Dex and I got off the train at Times Square to get a bite to eat. He promised to protect me again, so I had nothing to worry about. As we were getting off the train, I heard this voice. No, not a voice, an instrument that I don't think I've ever heard before in my life. As the crowd cleared and the noise died down a bit, I could see what it was. It was this lady playing a saw. I swear, it was the coolest thing ever.

Her name's Natalia, but Dex said that most people just call her the Saw Lady, because she plays that musical saw. Saw music isn't my usual cup of tea, but I will say this: it was angelic.

Of course, I totally go over and start geeking out. I've heard stories about people playing music down in the Subway system here, but Natalia was my first. Even better, she was good. All this time, I'd figured my first street performer would be some dope playing John Mayer songs with a hat laying on the ground in front of him.

While I was standing there, people would come by about every five minutes, asking her about her craft. She was totally cool about it, and she'd talk to anybody that came over. I sat in for two performances before Dex finally dragged me away, to catch the Redbird outta there. Phasin' em out, y'know.

Hopefully they won't phase Natalia out.

Subway Excursion - Part 2

2004-04-03T23:13:00.000-08:00

K, I'm back. Found a Starbucks and spent two precious dollars on an herbal tea-- cheapest thing I could buy. So, now I'm a customer and therefore entitled to use their internet access.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Me and Dex and our Subway Adventure...

While we were waiting for the train on Houston Street my new best buddy showed me the Token collection that his grandpa had gotten him for his birthday. The NYC Subway system phased out Tokens for this little card thingy back in the '90s. Dex was born in 1995, the last year that they made a token. He never actually used a token in his life, but his grandpa did, and he was born in 1953, which is the oldest token in the collection he bought. As the story goes, when gramps realized the coincidence, it was a no-brainer, considering that his grandson was such a little train junkie and all. It's pretty obvious that the collection became his most prized posession.

We took the M15 to Houston Street, where we got on a waiting V Train. Exactly what that means, I don't know. Dex told me to write this down so I could accurately report our route, so that's what I did. There was this goofy old man on the train who could either be described as a passive preacher, or a creator of religious-themed Found Art. Maybe I'm giving him too much credit, but he was certainly unique compared to the guys struggling for your attention and/or money. He was sitting in the end-seat of the car, holding up these little posters with tabloid-headline cutouts pasted across them, along with his own 'writings'. All of them had vaguely religious themes, and he had a whole stack of them. he'd shuffle theme every once in awhile, to show us a new mix of words, at which time he would say, deadpanning "There's nothing new under the sun."

None of it was incredibly coherent, but it was all tangentially biblical. Every so often, he'd look at Dex and I, and he'd stop doing his thing with the posters for a moment. He wasn't looking at us menacingly, I think he was just taking note of the fact that we were paying attention. Still, he gave me the creeps.

Dex told me not to worry. If we ran into any troublemakers, he said, he'd protect me.

For Dex, it was all about the type of train we were on, and the stations we were stopping at. Every so often, I'd hear all the arcane details about the train we were in, or perhaps one we'd see at the station "They're retiring this one soon, it's a Redbird. The Redbirds are being phased out by next year." he'd say, and go off on a tangent about how they sometimes take the old subway trains and dump 'em in the Harbor to create coral reefs for the local fish. It sounds like it's for the best, because the new trains are supposed to be much nicer, I'm told...:-) He knew when every station on this line had been built, and he obviously knew all about the cars, so in that sense, Dex was great to have along. Charming, personable, just a sweet kid all around.

But for me, it was more about people watching. So many different and interesting people, not the least of which was my guide!

The train was pretty fast moving, and mostly empty. Every so often, a new person would get on. In between Dex's subway minutiae classes, I'd talk to some of them...

Somewhere around Canal Street, an old couple got onto the train. Mary and her husband, Charles. They both looked to be in their 80s at least. I didn't ask because, well, that's rude. The strange thing about them was that they were dressed up for a night out on the town, even though it was the middle of the day. Charles was even wearing a proper hat. Men don't wear hats anymore...it's a shame. Mary said that she quit riding the subway a long time ago, but added, with a glimmer in her eye, that no ride was better than the one she took on today's date in 1946. She was riding this train to a concert in Times Square with her brother, when she noticed a neatly dressed young man winking in her direction.

"We didn't know who he was winking at," she said. "He was very handsome, a very handsome man."

The young man was in a group that happened to include a friend of Mary's brother.

That was when Charles said, with a wink, that it was him, and he sure as hell wasn't winking at her brother.

Mary talked her brother into ditching their plans to go to the concert, and instead go dancing with Charles and his friends. Later in the evening, Charles asked if Mary could join him on Wednesday night. She asked what was wrong with Tuesday.

They were married a year later, had five kids and five grandkids. And so, every year on the anniversary of the night they met, they get all gussied up and take the subway downtown, riding the same train they did that night.

Sometimes they even go dancing.

Subway Excursion - Part One

2004-04-03T22:01:00.000-08:00

I Got up this morning and looked for a job…for a little while. Not a lot of options, really. The fact that I've no permanent address to call my own limits those options even further than some. Something'll turn up, I just have to be patient.

Still, it was a little disheartening.

After that, I decided to console myself by venturing into the Subway and explore a little more. The subway's cheap entertainment, and after the morning I'd had, I needed a little adventure to clear my head. Only thing is, I had no idea the adventure that I was about to embark on...!

So, I'm standing there on the platform, anxiously waiting for my first subway ride ever. The only people at the stop were me, and a little boy named Dex, who was sitting quietly, marking all over his little subway map. I would learn later that he was planning his route. After a couple of minutes, he broke the silence, asking me if I was a Subway enthusiast. I explained that I didn't know yet, because I'd never actually been on one before.

He smiled and, after apologizing about ten times for bugging me, explained that he mistook my anxiety for excitement. Well, those are my words. Basically, he said "Oh, sorry. From the way you were looking down the tracks, you kind'a looked like a subway enthusiast. Sorry to bug you." I think he was lonely, and he seemed kind'a... I dunno, sad.

After that, Dex became my best friend for the day because, as he explained to me, he was most definitely a subway enthusiast. He said that his grandpa usually goes on the Subway with him, but he was sick, so if I wanted, he could show me the ropes.

Well, never being one to turn down a free tour guide, I decided that I'd hang with Dex for awhile. I went down into the Subway thinking I'd explore the city, maybe get my mind off my dim employment prospects. What I didn't realize was that we were embarking on an adventure...

I think this guy at the table next to me just realized I was scamming WiFi from him-- Gotta go!

Sleepy, Hungover and Broke

2004-03-31T07:58:00.000-08:00

Next week, I'm gonna look for a job. I'm running out of money fast. Been alternating between sleeping in the Library during the day, the bus station at night, and every so often, splurging on some sort of a flop house kind'a situation. Lemme tell you, those are ever so glamorous places to stay. The bus station is cleaner. Probably safer, too.

The Libraries are nicer, but it's a little trickier to get quality sleep there.

SoHo Safari

2004-03-29T16:23:00.000-08:00

About lunchtime today, I saw a man in safari gear wandering around the west side of SoHo. He had a subway map with him and he just looked generally bewildered and confused. Not that I was gonna be of much assistance, but I asked if he was lost. "Where is SoHo" he asked. I had no idea, but some one yelled out across the street that anything south of Houston to Canal Street is considered SoHo.

So now I know where SoHo is.
Still dunno what the safari gear was for, or why he needed to be in SoHo to use it.

Rain Delay

2004-03-27T23:54:00.000-08:00

Rain. Great big bucketloads of the stuff. All day yesterday. It could'a turned out to be a thoroughly miserable day, but I dunno. It didn't work out that way at all.

I have nowhere to go, no place that's mine here. No shelter from the storm, and no alternative besides to find someplace free to hang out and stay out of the rain on a day like yesterday. I'm reminded of an old, unreleased Replacements song called Nowhere Is My Home. That should be my theme song:

"Out to sea in a ship full of holes, even though with a heave and a hail, m'gonna raise my sail."

My ship's definitely full of holes, as I ended up walking through Chinatown and wandered around Tribeca in a downpour, just me and my leaky umbrella. Visited the River Project and struck up a conversation with a guy who worked there, Scot. He let me play with his skate (nothing sexual, mind you.)

Anyway, the two of us battled against the rain through Battery Park, and then we hit a local bar that he often frequents. He was meeting up with his friends there, and he asked me to come along. I tried to get out of it, explaining that I didn't have the money for a bar trip, but skater boy was having none of it and offered to buy my drinks.

Who am I to refuse free drinks and food? I'm really in no position to turn down a free eal and a warm place to hang. Not in my currently dire financial straits.

The bar was cool. Apparently, it'd briefly endured a period of being the 'in' place, but things were happily back down to earth now. Just the regulars and people wanting to get out of the rain.

In the basement, this all-chick garage band were just thrashin'. They sounded like the Donnas after a 12 pack of PBR. Also, those chicks had filthy, filthy mouths. Seeing them go at it, I was downright green with envy. I almost wanted to go down there and ask if I could sit in, but I totally chickened out. Instead, I sat there with Scot and his friends, chatting away while we looked out on 8 lanes of traffic just beginning to bottleneck over Williamsburg Bridge.

Next stop was a rock n' roll dive bar over on 3rd. Finished the long night's drinking there, wasted, where I said goodbye to my new friends. A couple of them asked for my number so we could hang out again, which resulted in an awkward moment each time. How d'you tell someone that you're homeless without completely ruining their opinion of you? The first time you meet 'em, no less.

I probably should'a spent the day, I dunno...Looking for a job. I don't know why I haven't done that yet. It just seems like every day, I end up meeting someone new, happening across one adventure or another,(or at elast a distraction that is more fun than the alternative...but by the end of the day, when I'm crashing in a crappy 'by the hour motel, or even worse, the bus station, I'm totally kicking myself.

Street Walker...

2004-03-19T19:49:00.000-08:00

I've done quite a bit of travelling since I left Nowhere, hitting most of the bigger cities between Seattle and Manhattan over the past year. One thing I've learned is to get the lay of the land as quickly as possible. The world can be a very scary, large place when you find yourself dropped in the middle of a strange city, and you're only familiar with what you can see in front of you when you step off the bus. When everything's an uncertainty, you feel very small. But once you've dicovered it, well, then you know what's around the corner, and things don't seem nearly so big or scary.

What I do is, first thing, as soon as I step off the bus sometimes, I find a detailed street map, and get as much information as possible on where I am. Then, as soon as I possibly can, I go warwalking.

I have to admit that I wasn't expecting to find large numbers of wireless networks, especially given that the layout of the city makes putting point-to-point networks together a bit tricky, and old stone buildings are wonderful signal attenuators. However, in some cases it's nice to be proved wrong.

Yes, I am a geek about this stuff. It's mostly a dead fad by now, but it's something I picked up on my travels, along with hobo symbols, which do still come in quite handy if you know what you're looking for.

I once went on an art walk in Phoenix with three people I met in a bar there, one of whom was originally from NYC. His friends wanted to take a trolley from gallery to gallery, but their friend insisted on walking it. Apparently, walking in New York is a completely different experience than anywhere else. We walked around for hours and this guy wasn't even winded. This was nothing for him. While we were walking, he told me all about warchalking.

I was hooked from that moment on. Anyway, that's where I got this idea that hit me the morning after I got here.

I decided to walk from the northernmost tip of Manhattan to the southernmost tip. It took me the better part of the day: just under 8 hours to cover probably somewhere between 15 and 16 miles. I did it partly because it was a small accomplishment I could achieve in a day, partly because after that long bus ride, I didn't wanna sit on my butt anymore, and partly because it was an unseasonably nice day and I wanted to enjoy the weather and the city firsthand.

Also, walking is technically a free activity. It fit right in with my budget, which is next to nothing. Add on the potential to find a couple hotspots and I was dying to go.

I was amazed at how the city and the people who live here have tried to preserve green and create spaces to breathe amid the concrete. The city has little designated parks all over the place. Little ones that, anywhere else, wouldn't even be called parks, but here, they are.

I'm sure that, in the springtime when the flowers are in bloom, it's downright cute.

I also noticed the people. Crossing the street, raising their palms to hail a cab. People on bicycles, and cars going from place to place, children in strollers, old folks in wheelchairs. Regardless of whoever, most of 'em don't even acknowledge one another. They're plugged into iPods and MP3 players or CD players, reading at the bus stop or just totally self absorbed in their day or their destination or whatever. I saw, of all things, a couple of live chickens in an alleyway near St. Nicholas and 130. Most of these people don't realize what they've got. Me, being from Nowhere, I just wanted to soak it all in. It's hard to conceive how this city manages to hold more than a million people, really. I mean, the streets were busy, but I don't feel like I saw a million people today.

Okay, that was a stupid thing to say-- as if everybody in Manhattan steps out onto the street and stays there the whole day.

I guess the biggest thing I got from today was a better understanding of the layout of the city, and how the different neighborhoods connect and...just sort'a where everything is.

NYC

2004-03-17T23:43:00.000-08:00

Finally made it to New York. I have, like, no money left. Seriously. I should've planned out my escape from Nowhere, Oregon a little better, maybe gotten a job at McDonalds back home and saved more money before I skipped outta town, but I just couldn't bear to wake up another day in that crummy little hole.

Admittedly, it was a rash decision. My Grandma gave me $500 and a laptop computer for my 18th birthday. Having no concept of how much stuff really costs. I figured those five bills would last me pretty much forever, so I packed my stuff in my pillbox purse, walked down to the bus station and bought a ticket out of Nowhere that same evening.

I left my mon n' dad a note. They probably still haven't read it. They probably still haven't noticed that I'm gone.

I'd never been anywhere but Nowhere in my whole life, so in hindsight, I probably went a little overboard with my Keroac routine. I hit Seattle, LA, San Diego, Chicago, Philly, and a bunch of points in between over the past year or so, travelling by bus to see where I'd end up, and finding part time jobs outta necessity so I could afford to get back on the road. I always knew I was coming here to New York. Anyway, bus fare is kind'a expensive, food's kind'a expensive, and by the time I made it here, my finds were seriously depleted. Depleted... more like obliterated. I am so screwed right now.

The funny thing is that, no matter what, even if I had unlimited funds, I think I'd just stay in New York anyway. I've only been here two days, but I just love this city. I don't want to go back, but I'm gonna have to find a place to stay, and a place to work. This town is scary, I don't know what to do.