Believe it or not, there's a hotter, sexier Steve B. than that Bevets
Lady Penelope
Friday night I had begged friends to spend $50 to see Steve Buscemi do Spalding Gray, you know, like a tribute, not some leftover household videotape. Not that I wouldn’t watch it, because I would watch that too. Anyway, prior to this show I had fallen on my belly, been hit in the back of a head with my two-ton laptop, bled all over the testing center, failed the test, and stood in the rain mentally calculating the distance between my apartment and the Hudson River. I don’t mean to suggest that I was actually suicidal, but it was one of those moments where I thought for the fleetingest second, yeah, well, there’s always that option. The subway flooded, all trains but one stopped running, and the crowd to board the N train filtered out to the street. I stood forty minutes in the rain waving for a cab.
Thus, I was in a bit of a snit. My friend chews gum more vigorously than I think proper, but then I don’t think gum proper. She also hums constantly, sings even, and talks with her hands, is one of those people always buzzing with noise like she’s got to keep you knowing she’s there, gnawing through life on this gum. For these reasons I nearly slaughtered her en route from the pre-show cocktail to the theater, even after she’d just paid the bar tab. And …
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