The Trumpet Inside Me: Reflections on a Magical Night

What happens when you mix a hard-drinking cougar with a crowd filled with lesbians?  Bedazzle.

Last night, an artist looked into my soul and shared my life with the world.  It was like she took all my blog posts and read each one aloud.  Strumming my life on her ukelele. 

Ledcat and I stopped in Your Inner Vagabond for a cup of java and some baklava.  We came away with our entire reality reinterpreted and a new blueprint for our future.  Together.  United against all the odds.  In a cold world that fails to provide health insurance for a sequin stitcher temporarily blinded by her work. 

Just her and I.

Toss in a little sunshine next to that cougar and you get Dicey Stewart and Paprika LaRue who kept us glued to our cushions at YIV last night with a spellbinding performance fusing the Love Boat showcase lounge with $1 martini night at the local karaoke bar.  Bedazzle.

This is an act worth driving through a dark and stormy night to watch.  I am not exaggerating that the line snaked around the corner.  Well, it would have IF they had made all the folks wait outside.  Instead, we paced the spacious exterior room as the new owners of YIV worked feverishly to accomodate the crowd with coffees, Middle Eastern delicacies and baklava (on the house, baby!).  The new owners of YIV own the Istanbul Grill downtown so they know their way around some baklava.  I was very impressed with their composure under such pressure their second night in business. 

When “Babycakes” the doorwoman let us through, an explosion of middle aged fans raced for seating with backs, ironically leaving the slow and infirm to cast themselves onto the pillows.  Thanks to my lesbian connections, I maneuvered Ledcat back to a decent seat.  Hey, I don't feel guilty.  I gave up my hard-won pillows to ease the lesbians on the floor.  Cause I'm a giver.

The Post-Gazette take heed – the majority of the attendee conversations upon which I was able to eavesdrop said they came because of your article. You may not be on the cutting edge of new social media, but you can still motivate the entertainment choices of the middle-aged suburbanites.  The room was PACKED with grandpa jackets AND lesbians.  Because Dicey and Paprika unite people. 

The show opened with Tracy Drach who mistakenly covered a Karen Carpenter song and essentially voided her contract with D&P who also planned to cover the Carpenters, but she bravely forged onward in tune, on key and with proper pitch.  This didn't set the tone for the rest of the evening, but Tracy can work hard and one day incorporate the mating cry of a white wing dove into her own act.  I have faith in her.  Being a singer-songwriter doesn't mean you have to limit yourself to singing, Tracy.  Find your inner trumpet.

I can't describe Paprika and Dicey.  Paprika is the cougar that lived down the street in the house where your mother wouldn't let you play, even while she sent you to her studio for dance lessons.  Those lessons could explain why you are single and reading this blog in search of lesbian hangouts where you might meet that special person.  Dicey and Paprika won't be performing at that place because all eyes are on them, leaving little chance for sparks to fly among the audience.

Dicey is the bedazzle of the duo.  You also weren't allowed to play at her house because your parents believed children shouldn't be used to mass produce flowing crowns of tissue paper that they couldn't keep.  Those flowing crowns of tissue paper might explain why you think it is okay to take off your shoes in a coffeehouse and tuck your feet up on a sofa cushion upon which I might sit one day. So not okay, by the way. What if I drop my baklava on that cushion and follow the 3-second rule? Ewww.

This duo is like the elusive well-covered Karen Carpenter song.  Their busy cruise ship schedule keeps them on the high seas so be sure to keep your ears to the ground for the next Pittsburgh performance.  Bring your best bedazzled grandpa jacket and you'll fit right in. 

ps:  Ledcat has informed me that if I don't stop reproducing the white winged dove mating cries, I am being sent to Hoi Polloi for the rest of the day while she basks in the Dicey and Paprika afterglow.  Check out her fan pic with Paprika on my Facebook page.