Miami

Miami. I'm going back Wednesday for a few days.

In the process of getting plenty of documentary footage of the noise scene, I was recruited by the shadow puppet ladies for a performance. I was asked to be a part of their shadow puppet show while the Laundry Room Squelchers played. The thought crossed my mind that I might be violated, or at least I hoped so. I was the only male puppeteer. The performance was improv. I don't have the video footage of it, but I'm sure there would be a general agreement that it doesn't look like the work of grown ups. I used one of those stuffed horses on a stick as a prop for awhile. I ended up giving several female performers piggy back rides while the light cast our shadow to the audience and the squelchers supplied a chaotic soundtrack. The sheet was pulled down eventually exposing us. There was plenty of unabashed butt slapping, faux mayhem inappropiate laughter and puddles of sweat. It gets hot on Churchill's outdoor backstage, but I was not violated.

On the way over to Little Haiti, where Churchill's is located Mr. B a drummer who plays in several bands from several barely related genre's told us how he had met a man, the topic of the hour, with many aliases, who was apparently dubious in every way. There were plenty of stories of get rich quick schemes, bad art, couch surfing, speculation of axes to grind, auxillary personalities, hero worship and poorly articulated dreams.

He met the man whose real name is still a mystery, from a domanatix acquaintance, "she's Asian", B. said, stressing that Asian domanatrix's are in demand and that they are tougher to find than one might suspect.

I admit my knowledge of supply and demand is rudimentary so I didn't delve. I don't want to look stupid.