Just came back from a night at the Sidewalk Café with Tim. Monday nights are the "Anti-Hoot Open Mic." We didn't go to perform this time, just to scope out the scene. But who should we run in to, but our boy from back in college, soce the elemental wizard? Unfortunately, I had to go home for sleep before he went on, but I see him a bunch anyway, so it's all good. Ooh, and we talked about me singing on one of his tracks. Fun!

People at the open mic were talented in all kinds of weird ways - some were good singers, some good lyricists, some good guitarists, some just plain funny. No one really blew me away, but the acts were definitely getting better as the night progressed, so I probably missed out on some great stuff. Apparently, the way it works is that if the guys like you, they ask you right then and there whether you want to do a full show there. Crazy.

I realized as I was leaving that the one and only reason I couldn't do a full show is that I don't have enough material. Now I'm generally a modest guy, but I think I'm comfortable saying that not one of the people I saw was half the singer I am, their songwriting and lyrical abilities notwithstanding. I haven't heard too much of Tim's singing recently, but I'd venture that the same probably goes for him as well (as in he's like me, not like them).

This week, I also got paid by a friend to incorporate some sounds and do some mixing on a jingle he was doing for a commercial. We had a real fun time, we talked about creativity and about how you can't succeed if you don't try (wise fuckin' words), I gave him a CD of some of my music, and we parted ways for a bit. It was the most money I have made to date from a single musical endeavor, and I can't decide whether to be excited or merely shocked by its silliness. [Update 12:50 AM: They said the version with the extra sounds cut out at the end, so they had to use the pre-Arthur original. Har!]

Must finish songs. Write write write create create. It is the only way.

And in closing, there is nothing like listening to Hard Normal Daddy while wandering downtown late at night. Vague memories of rare bewildered trips to Konkrete Jungle and Alberto Balsalm pouring out of Evan's back room. Visions of being hunched over my keyboard with headphones on, room lights down, little lights flashing. Hopes of dancing my own cosmic musical dance that will someday affect others as Squarepusher's has affected me. I've been a little down on New York recently, but tonight helped me remember why I take shit all day and still end up poor. It's because, in some weird fucked-up way, this is where my life is. This is where the life is. When I finally start blowing up, this is where it's gonna have to be, because when all is said and done, anywhere else, it just wouldn't matter.