Last night I had the opportunity to play the part of a hanger-on. My friends John and John had tickets to see Justin Bond's "Rites" show at the Triple Door, and when I arrived at the venue a little after six, we were pointed backstage. Backstage, moi? For reals? Me, I can barely get into secret screenings at SIFF.
Little did I know that my friend John was acquainted with Justin, and with musician extraordinaire Our Lady J, through John's brother, a well-known artist and New Yorker. So--we hung out backstage, sipping martinis and watching the pre-show show. It was as glamorous and cool as I'd ever imagined. None of the performers--Justin, slender and calm, nor OLJ, with her killer cheekbones--seemed nervous. There were bra adjustments and plates of picked-over Asian food, a search for lost glasses and much archly hilarious, off-the-cuff commentary. There was some spying, too, one eye peeled for a particular audience member about whom Justin had written a song years ago. I just wonder if he's still hot, Justin said, in his careless whiskey voice.
We all had a look at the person later, and agreed: Not.
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