I got shouted at by Daphne Rubin-Vega last night.
I just started drawing at Joe's Pub, here in sunny--no wait, freaking frigid--New York City. So, I'm sitting at my table, trying to let the magic happen. Ms. Rubin-Vega's on stage, singing her heart out and-despite the fact that she has a cold--she sounds great; she's telling some jokes, talking about her favorite TV shows and just generally being a big old star with a new album coming out. I've got my head down, pen moving--we're a couple of songs into the set and suddenly I hear, "And then here's this guy sitting there, writing. He must be a critic or something." And I think, "please God, don't let her be talking about me."
But she is.
The crowd near me starts protesting, trying to explain that I'm drawing not criticizing. Ms. Rubin-Vega is dubious--who wouldn't be?--but she presses on rocking and crooning. But I have become a chip on her shoulder.
I dunno, maybe some people need the chip on their shoulder to push them through. Sometimes when you're not feeling 100 percent and you're giving it your all, you need something to be working against. I know a lot of actors and directors who get sick during tech-week or around opening. I have been there myself.
By the way, there's this one song she performed, En Estos Dias, that about made me cry. Made me want to get up there and apologize for being all into my drawing when I should have been staring at her. Of course, I wouldn't have been drawing anything if she hadn't been there to be drawn . . .