Route Canal

I never go downtown, all the way downtown. When I first moved to Manhattan, I declared that I would never go south of Houston unless I was fucking a celebrity. So far, the most famous person I ever had sex with in town was a porn star on loan from Florida. And in the meantime, I have been downtown many times. But now I have been there three times in a week. This is ridiculous.

In tonight's performance, the role of steamer trunk will be played by my laptop.

The first time, I took the One train to Canal Street was Wednesday of last week to attend a cocktail party benefit for Lambda Legal. I had RSVP’d as a Maybe on Facebook because it started at 6:30pm and my show starts at 8:00pm. Also it is downtown. And am I fucking a celebrity? No. But then Ari Ezra Waldman sweet-talked the fifty dollar cover out of me and convinced me to go. The only problem: the event was on Thursday, not Wednesday.

So stupidly, Wednesday, I came in early, trudged down to Canal Street, forced my way through some construction and made my way to the locked door of a darkened art gallery next to a mattress store. The two ladies working in the store must have been very amused to watch me repeatedly shake and rattle the door next door, certain that I was in the right place at the right time, despite no visible signs of life. Oh yes, and that locked door.

Romaine was much amused when I returned from my trip to nowhere, as anyone who knows me would be. I am not much for the details. I just naturally fail upwards in life. And honestly, when you are that kind of person, the less you know about how things work the better. But then this necessitated me making a Groundhog’s Day of it hours later for the actual event on Thursday.

I support the fine work of Lambda Legal and Ari is as handsome a college professor as you are going to get without landing on Gilligan’s Island (apologies to Doug), but a room full of lawyers is the last place on earth I want to be. As I explained to Ari in my feeble attempt at declining, I will be the only one there without a degree that isn't carrying a tray. As it turns out, I didn't fit in with the tray carriers either because they were literally Model Bartenders and one of them was so handsome I actually had trouble breathing. And I am certain that while he might have attempted mouth to mouth, I don’t think it would have had any hope of reviving me. Quite the opposite in fact.

Naturally, I knew no one there until Martin Barna finally arrived. Harvard Ryan was not far behind him and eventually Ari dashed his way in as well. Martin was also on the committee for the event, but he didn't strong arm my attendance the way Ari did. The same cannot be said for the cocktail in his hand after a long day at work. I would have loved to have heard the details, but naturally the minute anyone I knew arrived, I had to leave. There was barely even a second to congratulate Charlie on his recent wedding and for him to pet my hair in a dreamlike trance. It does have a certain wig-like quality to it at times and I think Charlie was just making sure it was at least human hair.

Of course I thought this would be my last adventure downtown for some time but lo a mere six days later, there I was on the One train again, getting off on Canal Street. This time I was down there to visit the SoHo Grand Hotel and the dot429 event featuring Ben Harvey. Perhaps I didn't think I would be in the neighborhood again so soon because when I said yes, I thought it was at the SoHo House and wouldn't that have been an hilarious adventure.

Even though Ben had no compunction skipping my Cinco de Mayo party just this past weekend, he knows there isn't a place in New York City I won’t go if he asks, be it Brooklyn or West Broadway at Canal.

Upside of subway travel: hilarious advertorials inside the subway stations.

So I walk into the party and I don’t know anyone. As usual. But then some nice guy named Alex from the Gay City News strikes up a conversation with me, as does Tim from InStyle Magazine, a work neighbor two doors down at the Time-Life Building. Tim actually recognized me, which never happens in Manhattan, confiding that even though he doesn't regularly listen to my show, his ex-boyfriend was obsessed, a hardcore superfan. That’s the fame I have. I don’t like you but I have heard of someone who does.  

A few minutes later, Martin walked in and since he is a lawyer, I warned everyone that anything said in their conversation could be used against them in a court of law. But later, Adam Hignite insisted that the person people needed to be Mirandized against was me. “I am afraid to say anything in front of you,” he sighed. “Who knows what will end up on that website of yours?” Well in this case, it is a shameless plug for his realestate website since he is back from selling sea shells by the sea shore and making a go of it again in Manhattan.

The clock was ticking down and I still hadn't seen Ben, but I did see his friend Zach and Zach's blond dreamscape of a boyfriend Daniel. “I think we've met before,” he purred. I don’t know why the two of us have so much trouble remembering that we have met thousands of times but we do. Zach and Daniel let me know that lime green pants are hot and so it was since both Daniel and another guy standing with them were in nearly identical pants. “Chartreuse!” was the official, loudly declared color. #trendy. A cute guy stood with them, his tan pants and jacket blending awkwardly with the curtains behind him. “Do you feel left out?” I asked him as he nodded and disappeared before my very eyes.

In case I didn't see Ben, I checked in on Facebook, so that like a criminal, I would have a solid alibi. See, he could look on Facebook and see that I was there, even if he didn't see me in person. As it turns out, moments after I said hello and good bye to Jonathan D. Lovitz in the same breath, Ben entered the party. I made sure he saw me in the crush of fans before I slipped away.

Harvard Ryan didn't think it was fair that I came and went so quickly but Martin agreed with my reasoning that with the new schedule, it was better that you could see me more often now, even if it was of a shorter duration. “I am the Vine video of NYC social life!” I declared prophetically. In our rapidly changing times, there isn't even fifteen minutes of fame left. I can only give Canal Street six seconds of my life, but apparently those same six seconds can loop three times in a week.