Where did you spend the night that made election history?

On election night, the Democrats Abroad threw a "worthy of the event" bash at Ciné Aqua located in the park at Trocadero.

Filmmaker and longtime member of Democrats Abroad as well as the minority caucaus of said organization, Zachary Miller, called on jazz, gospel, blues and funk artists, mostly American, living in and around Paris to each add their special talents in aid of the celebration, all expressing hope for a new day in America when the dreams of a minority child, in America, could include being a president.

Singer, Brigitte; blues singer and quitarist, Juju Childs; Jazz stylist, Manda Djinn; Linda Lee Hopkins; singer/composer, Joe Langley; Jonice; Nathalie, aged 11, her first time singing on mic and Les Skylarks among others. Bassist, Alex Sanders and extraordinary pianist, Valerie Benzaquine, showed their love and professionalism as they accompanied the many artists. Valerie will soon be a mom and her child will surely be musical; saxophonist, David Johnson and trumpetist Ronald Baker sat in, and the entertainment kept the room live while people roamed through Ciné Aqua or sat watching the election process on one of the many TV screens along the alleys or wide screens in several screening rooms.

Shouts of joy rang through the halls when each state was tallied until at last the great cry, "We won! Oh Happy Day!" That last bit was Linda Lee. Meanwhile, lazily swimming fish, we were in their home after all, ignored the ruminations of man and never even gave the fisheye to passersby.

Let's associate

September is the month of Associations here. In case you don't know it yet, France is the home of associations. Being involved in or having one gives you legitimacy and credibility, two states one needs to be in when dealing with life in bureaucratic France and especially in outlying suburbs. Knowing this, I duly attended the Forum des Associations in Clichy.

As always, the speaker system blared at a volume so intense that I entered holding both hands over my ears. Even so, stoic men and women sat in booths promoting their programs without so much as a wince. A tour of the room reminds me that I should belong to one of these organizations if I want to meet any Clichois much less get friendly with a few.

The associations offer courses in dance, music, song, languages etc. Get the picture? Perhaps if you or I wanted to give lessons, we'd just put an ad in the paper and let it go at that but if you're really smart, you'll go through the trouble of founding an association that covers any activity you're interested in first, bearing in mind that it has to be non-profit.

I didn't find anything interesting that I couldn't teach myself but then I arrived at a booth with friendly people that turned out to be an association for foreigners living in Clichy. I should have known. I almost arrived late at my lpm date with Raphael at the bus stop because of the excited conversations with other foreigners. Well, this could be the start of something big...

A song for Obama

Check out this youtube entry, a clever parody of Chu Chu Ch' Boogie, a tune played by Louis Jordan & his Tympany Five (1946).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJW67YfLWgs

A sad day in Clichy

Several weeks ago, three to be exact, a 26 year old black Clichy resident was found dead in a parked car in Clichy. Since suspicious deaths must be investigated, his body could not be released until today.

Late morning, close to mid-day, returning from my daily shopping routine at Casino, the sight of hundreds of silent marchers heading toward my street stopped me cold. Bus drivers stood chatting - their buses idled, as the crowd snaked around the corner of Victor Hugo and rue Villeneuve. People of all colors, shapes and pursuasions silently marching. Not wanting to seem rude, I hesitated to ask but finally joined the parade at several different points and managed to gleen some info. The marchers were on their way to the cemetery. I asked if he'd been beaten but the woman marching beside me said no, he was just found dead.

No one voiced a supposition as to the cause, they were only sad at the untimely death of another young black man.

Ah, for a second life!

Yesterday I sat with several other people viewing Second Life on a wide screen. We actually had a presentation by Miriam, professional Second Lifer exponent, love that word.

I was one of the few attendees to have an Avatar, in fact, I have three: Yahoo, Meez and Second Life.

Second Life is fascinating in that, as the title says, one can really live a second life maybe even better than your first. You can own a store, a home, buy clothing, have friends, fly, see I said a better life, to places you've only dreamed of. The possibilities are endless.

I thought of fulfilling my dream of owning and hosting my own club where I would be the resident singer. Of course, friends would be invited to sing too. Checking this project out on SL the cost is only a fraction of the cost offline! Bien sûr.

Our host tried visiting a nudist colony (several exist in SL) and succeeded flying into one but as soon as the one occupant on the beach saw him, she ran away. He still had his pants on, not that he didn't try to take them off. Unfortunately, the 'take your pants off button' wouldn't do it. So there he was, hovering over the nudist camp with his pants on! Tsk, tsk.

The first time I tried SL was immediately after a telewebinar with the same Miriam, hosted by Bernadette Martin, branding expert. I had fun making and naming the avatar but got scared when I had to put my money where my heart was and give up my credit card info. Oh, oh, I thought, sistasinga, you'd better think twice. Now, after testing the life, I'm tempted to try again though it won't be my second life. 'Seems like many other artists, I've already had two or three.

Weathering the weather

Friends may have noticed my hangup with the temperature. In over twenty years of living in Paris, France, I can count hot summers on ten fingers, maybe less. We all howled in pain during the heatwave a few years back. Elders died and heat prostration overcame some of us, not me, I was in my glory. Knowing that very few apartments and homes in France are air-conditioned and most people don't even have fans is the tip-off. Although since that heatwave, fans are on sale and available but not really necessary this year. Summer is just not hot here.

A friend asked in mid-August, "Do you think it'll warm up again or is Summer over? My answer is no one knows whither the weather but judging by my past experience, I'd say Summer is basically finished by August fifteenth when the vacationers begin winding their way back home, jamming the highways. I've felt humid heat in Manilla & Singapore to name a couple of places that are not lukewarm. And how about Tokyo and Osaka? Consistent heat like I like it: up in the 90s...hallelujah! Last Spring I toured in both cities and the weather approximated Paris' but not so the summer weather. I'm vowing to spend time next summer in Tokyo or Osaka. Kind of far huh?
Maybe I'll go back to Budapest instead.

Sunday afternoon in Paris

Sunday afternoon, instead of dancing by the Seine or museum hopping, I met with S. a Cameroonian math teacher/tap dancer and a Senegalese clothing designer/ cafe owner for shop talk and tropical drinks. I drank natural ginger with fresh mint and cracked a thousand peanut shells.

The cafe Au Theranga, decorated with African fabrics and statuary, is located on Rue des Dames near Place Clichy and open daily from six pm. Genial owner and host, Mike, presents a site for cultural exchange with a varied acoustic program from African music to Slam. No alcohol served in this intimate setting, just as well, I'd already had my one red wine at a nearby brasserie while waiting for the Theranga opening.

What's the first film you remember?

In article by Alex Dobuzinskis (read today): LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Holy politicking, Batman, where Obama and McCain gave their best pop hits, closed with this line: "Obama said his first movie memory was "Born Free," the 1966 film about African lions. McCain remembered the 1942 Disney animated feature "Bambi." "
This made me think of the time when I heard my mom and sister talking about the Walt Disney movie "Dumbo, the Flying Elephant". I hadn't seen a movie yet.
"Boy, an ephafant with wings! Mommy let me see the ephafant too!"
"Oh, baby, too late, he's gone now."
I tugged at her skirt. "Pretty please. With sugar on top! Ask God to bring the ephafant back, Mommy!
PS: I never did get to see the film.
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Music to soothe the soul.
http://mandadjinn.free.fr
http://www.myspace.com/mandadjinn
http://mandadjinn.blogspot.com

The French way (Second in a series?)

My favorite work-ridiculous experience happened early on during my first singing engagement at a club in Saint Michel on Paris's Left Bank.
First, one should know that Chamomile is made in an herbal tea and principally used for a good night's sleep and in general, its calming effect. I had already given up caffeinated tea and switched to herbal tea, mostly to avoid staining my teeth.

This night I arrived early and when asked if I'd like a drink, ordered herbal tea. Herbal Teas on hand were Verveine and Chamomile. Since Verveine reminded me of elephant's p_ _ s although I'd never drunk any (don't ask), I ordered Chamomile. It came, I drank, end of story. I thought. Later, as I sang onstage, the sound of my voice got progressively thinner and without presence until I was practically shouting and still hearing nothing. At the end of the set, I stormed offstage to confront Laurent, the sound technician --- this was before I knew of the velvet glove approach. Anyway, I accosted him with my favorite question, "Are you crazy? Then, "What happened to the sound?"
He told the following story which astounded me:
The boss wandered into the club to listen and thought my voice sounded weak. So he said, "What's happening with the newbie? She sounds weak."
"Boss, if you ask me, she's not feeling well tonight," says Laurent.
"And how did you arrive at that conclusion?"
"Yeah, well, I heard her ordering Chamomile tea before the show."
"Mais oui, good thinking, Laurent. In that case, turn the volume down onstage, this way she'll be forced to sing louder. "
Results: the louder I sang, the less sound I heard in my monitor.

I simmered and sputtered but the damage was already done. Finally, it dawned on me to suggest he check the main volume, located in back of the soundboard which sat flush with the wall behind it. He moved the board away from the wall with some difficulty, looked at the main volume indicator and discovered it was turned down to the lowest level possible.

So, someone had sabotaged my show. Since I was the first act and any irregularity would surely be caught out either during or at least after my passage it was obviously a way to show me in a bad light, make that, in a bad voice. As the 'new girl in town' and latest gleam in the boss's eye, I already had enemies at work and soon learned that this sort of petty behavior is not that rare. Now it's laughable but at the time I saw purple!
Apparently, any sneaky trick is better than confrontation.

The French way

What do "French or Foe" by Polly Pratt, "A year in the Merde" by Stephen Clarke and "French Toast" by Harriet Welty Rochefort all have in common? Each one is written by an ex-pat who has lived or is living in France, who dealt or is dealing with the French on a daily basis. Each is written in good fun showing the comic side of the situation. It's a cinch that one should laugh to keep from crying when faced with the ridiculous situations caused by the culture conflict. Having finished these books I'm tempted to write a few of my own experiences as an American alive and living in France.

One of my favorites is the time when shopping for a pair of shoes I spotted a style in the window of a popular store. Carefully noting the style number because the same style came in mid and high heel, I entered the store and in answer to a polite, "May I help you?", gave it to the clerk and then settled on the low stool provided for clients patient enough to wait while the clerks tripped to the storeroom and back. Soon the young lady returned with, to my surprise, the high-heeled version of the style asked for. When I expressed my disappointment and said I'd asked for the mid-heel, she replied, "Madam, you don't understand. You see, your foot is long, size nine. A lower heel would be out of proportion. As the shoe gets longer, the heel gets higher. This is the design."
To which I replied, "That is the most ridiculous..." I couldn't finish my sentence because I began laughing hysterically and had to leave the store.

All jokes aside I wish I'd read these books or something like them before venturing to live in France. It wouldn't have changed the experiences only my way of dealing with them. A friend of mine when confronted with the French illogic, just laughs and says, "It's the French way."

On the sunnyside of the street

Once upon a time, streets in France were concave letting used water run down to the bottom, make that the middle. Citizens of high social ranking walked alongside the houses that is, at the top of the street, to avoid soiling their clothing. Could it be possible that some collective memory rests in the French of today, making them against all odds walk on their left instead of staying right as people in countries where one drives on the right normally do? Well, strangers to this phenomenon should know that this habit or lack thereof might hark back to another inherited memory and remember that during the French revolution, high society was brought low, chopped off and done away with and each member of whatever social standing could now take the high road. If this is the case, then what is the excuse of those other people who walk willy-nilly in the middle, on the right or on the left of the street with no rule in mind?

Traveling? Need a couch? Need a guide?

For one year I've been praising the site and the system of Couch Surfing, made up in general of people who love to travel and meet people, act as hosts and/or guides or just hang out with and have a drink or coffee. As one might imagine, finding a couch is a bit more difficult than finding someone with whom one may meet for coffee or a drink. The majority of registered users fall in the 25 to 35 year age range but a few older travelers are also registered.

First step, register at couchsurfing.com stating whether you have a couch to offer for a night or two or would rather meet for a coffee or a drink. You'll have a page with a profile and photo. Be certain to note as much info as possible. If you are looking for a host or a just having a drink, it is wise to check the chosen person's profile for common interests. After all, even just having a drink can be painful if you're short on conversation subjects. Occasionally, Couch Surfing in your city will notify you of get-togethers. To my mind, this is mostly for young singles who are free to hang out. These impromptu meetings are quite successful, at least in Paris (the person who introduced me to couchsurfing site, a single traveling musician, always attends these events and swears by them).

Recently I spoke of couchsurfing at a meeting and was surprised to hear someone say that she would never stay in a stranger's home. Another said she'd be afraid to even meet for a drink. No one says one doesn't have to be careful and exert some discretion when choosing whom to contact. Several tips for safe usage are noted on the site and are absolute required reading.
So saying, I realized as my friend spoke her misgivings that I had sent an email asking for a couch to a registered user who had no references, no record of usage had only recently joined and noted that all requests be sent to a personal email. All subscribers are recommended to communicate through the couchsurfing site, this as a safety measure. Members are also rated by the number of times they answer requests. My heart in my mouth, I also realized that this member, if in reality it is a sincere member and not just someone playing a joke or worse, had not answered my request.
Thank heavens, most serious members do answer if only to say, 'maybe next time'.

Whither the weather?

As heard in Paris:
- Is it summer yet?
- What? Where?
- Here.
- You mean in Paris?
- Ouais.
- Bien sûr, it's mid-July isn't it? Bastille Day's come and gone, n'est ce pas?
- Certainement, but you see the weather? Why, our highs are New York's lows. And let's not speak about Tokyo and Osaka. Osaka's tropical.
- Laisse tomber, you know Paris is a bowl.
- Yes, of ice cream and I'm freezing. Gelée.
- Pas de soucis...a warm front is moving in and in two days the sun will shine and the temperature rise --- au moins till the end of the week.
- Remember the heat wave? 2003?
- That was hot. Chaud, chaud, chaud.
- Des morts. People died.
- Not ready for the heat.
- No air conditioning.
- No fans.
- No wonder...
- N'est ce pas? Most of the time summer here is unseasonable.
- Je sais, in my opinion downright unreasonable.

A blast from the past : Rocco and his Brothers

I admit to being an inveterate TV fan. No wonder when one can view such a film as Arte showed over the weekend: Luchino Visconti's "Rocco and his Brothers". The title is a familiar one from back in my Greenwich Village days. My sister was and still is, a francophile and in love with foreign films, especially French but not me. As a dancer, I usually watched musicals as part of my schooling in the how tos of performing, so I missed this and many other classic films over the years.
Getting back to Rocco, the script with well drawn characters and the actors held me spellbound especially memorable performances by Katina Paxinou, wonderful as the typical mom who rules the brothers, Annie Giradot as the 'devil in spite of herself' making the viewer, me, simultaneously love and hate her and her wanton ways. I yearned to tell Rocco, Alan Delon, not to give her up after his foolish brother shames her and him but helas, he does and honey turns to vinegar. I haven't been a Delon fan but surely if I had seen him long ago in this film I would've been. His performance as Rocco blew me away and his beauty was an added extra.
Sometimes I felt the sexism a bit much but one has to take into consideration the timing and the place : Italy, 1960. If you haven't yet seen this classic masterpiece, I strongly recommend it.

A dream

In the dream, we are two mixed groups of people at a party. I am in the smaller of two rooms having a glass of my favorite wine, St. Emilion. Suddenly a voice calls, "Hey, Manda, we're waiting on you." I look through the doorway to see who's speaking. In the other room, a man I don't know but to whom I wouldn't mind being introduced, sits on a stool holding a book. With misgivings I enter the room. His book is now a manuscript. In fact, all the other partyers now have manuscripts. Me too.
"Well, Manda, it's your turn," the leader says. I look down at the open manuscript in my hand and see it's notes running riot on a symphonic score. I'm about to ask, "how the devil can I read this ?" when I jerk awake.
Thank goodness, the thought of trying to read all those notes was a nightmare... I'm still trying to figure out what this dream is really about.

On the Seine

Ever long for dinner by candlelight with intermittent music, in intimate company with a view of the Seine? Le River Café peniche, with its spacious wood interior is the place you're longing for. In fact, I sang there last night. Every Wednesday, all year round, is jazz night, presenting jazz artists of grand caliber such as Michele Hendricks, daughter of famed singer, Bill Hendricks of Hendricks, Lambert & Ross fame. I usually sing Jazz there but last night's concert was a changeup from the norm. With bassist Nicolas Rageau and newcomer on the Paris scene, pianist Greg Lloyd, we alternately rocked the house and soothed the spirit with gospel, negro spirituals and inspirational songs. What's that? Songs like "I believe", "You'll never walk alone", "If I had a Hammer" etc. Get the picture? Or rather, the song? If you're a musician it's a tough nut to crack, after all, people are eating and speaking. But eventually they finish dessert and then they're all yours. Le River Café is situated on Quai Alexandre in Issy les Moulineaux. Check out their site for further info and check mine for our next performance there and elsewhere.

Waiting for a hit!

Will wonders never cease? The electro-dance song I wrote and recorded with David Rubato two years ago, "Deep Inside," is out and spinning. Only available for the time being in the United Kingdom, it showed up in the top ten on the Funky House internet site today. My fingers ache from being crossed since David and I signed a distribution contract in 2006. I grew up believing that the least a singer needed, besides some talent, was one hit record and a career was made. Of course, no one is against having a string of hits to his or her credit. At this point in time, though, with record sales on the decline, it seems like a lot to ask for. At any rate, it's too early to uncross fingers. By the way, to date, Deep Inside has three remixes. DJs make the hits so let's hope they hit on this cut.

DEEP INSIDE

Not so long ago
I felt nothing but the pain
Every place I went
Real bad memories on my mind

Nights were passing by
'till the day I realized
Despite what I believed
All I need's inside of me

I can tell now

DEEP INSIDE LIES THE ANSWER
DEEP INSIDE WAITS THE POWER
DEEP INSIDE LIES THE ANSWER
DEEP INSIDE WAITS THE POWER

Now I'm on my way
I know what I'm heading for
Learning everyday
Taking one step at a time

Keeping my head high
I feel I've got what it takes
Never giving up
It's the only way to go

I can tell now

DEEP INSIDE LIES THE ANSWER
DEEP INSIDE WAITS THE POWER
DEEP INSIDE LIES THE ANSWER
DEEP INSIDE WAITS THE POWER



EYEZCREAM
GUT RECORDS 2008

Caregiving III

Never having seen a limb fresh out of a plaster cast, this first view of Raphael's leg and foot was a shock. Raphael is a good sport and let me take pictures of his limb.
Check out Dr. Ben Kim's newsletter this week. He gives best acupressure points for promoting strong blood circulation throughout your legs and feet. I think I'll try it out on Raphael...

Caregiving II

Athough it's not funny for Raphael, this footgear has given me many laughs over the last couple of days. I mean, with two of them he could ski any slope. Maybe that's why, even though its use is necessary, reimbursement from Social Security is not forthcoming.
Without further ado meet Roboboot:

Clichy Plage ?

As promised, more about the beach installation called Clichy Plage (Clichy Beach). In the Clichy Stadium on Rue Villenueve, the city has followed through on an ambitious project, begun in 2007. Not what the title suggests though, only the small northwest corner is spread with sand. There, older patrons, mostly women, fully clothed and veiled, relax under umbrellas on lounge chairs while nearby, children swim in a removable pool, deep enough for them but hardly for an adult to swim. A lifeguard (maître nager) watches them cavorting and generally enjoying the unattended surprise of a free day at the beach. Free, yes but after this opening day, July 5th, adults pay 1€, children .50 centimes. Hey someone has to help foot the bill ! Ping pong tables are available as well as a football court, changing rooms and etc. The beach is open every day from 10am till 8pm and concerts are held on the podium Friday nights beginning at 8pm until 10pm. This is the one feature that seems not properly thought out.

The first concert of rock and French pop music could be heard throughout the immediate neighborhood on all sides of the "beach". This seems a burden for the immediate neighborhood. Are we to suffer for the greater good ? Ah well, no one thought to ask. Clichy Beach opens until August 3rd, 2008.

My favorite park, Roger Salengro, across the street was almost empty when I visited Clichy Beach on opening day but it remains to be seen how many people will attend the beach when obliged to pay. The women might return to the park which is free and beautiful but that's another story.

How did you celebrate July 4th, Independence Day ?

July 14th is Independence Day in France, equal to our July 4th celebration. A friend invited us for a July 3rd party in the suburbs, at least an hour by car. I answered the invitation with a subtle hint that transport being a problem - my husband won't be driving for a while - I probably wouldn't attend. However, this friend who is forever sending out emails about his activities, never answers others emails or at least mine. So July 4th, hubby and I spent at home. We got a lot done, worked on writing blogs and etc. at the computer. Know what I mean ?

Then July 5th rainy, windy morning weather cast a damp outlook on the big picnic planned by my friend known on the net as "Island Girl". It was decided to wait until early afternoon, say three o'clock, before going to the planned rendezvous. Three pm arrived, I was ready to party but the weather remained overcast and slightly cool. Unfortunately the long ride and the late hour with thoughts of trekking home on the RER train and bus, I chose to stay home with hubby again. Sure, he couldn't even go downstairs for coffee because of the slippery sidewalk. His leg and foot cast has a metal piece on the bottom, practical for resting ones foot but not practical in the rain with his two canes. By four pm however, the sun shone bright enough for a walk around one of my favorite parks, the Roger Salengro, just up the street from our building.

Also stopped into what is euphemistically called, Clichy Plage (Clichy beach) in the stadium across from the park but that's another story. At any rate, the weekend had nothing to do with those remembered holidays back home: hot, sunny, fighting the traffic to get to the beach. Fried chicken, corn, lemonade, or are my souvenirs going back too far ? After all, France has been my home since nineteen-eighty-four. So how did you spend the American Independence Day ?

Caregiving

In a fit of temper brought on by our car stalling, my husband tried to push the car. Result: he tore his Achilles Tendon. Ouch. Naive as we were, we both thought he'd be back at work in a few days. Wrong.
After an operation he is now in a cast for two months and I'm in the position of caregiving for the first time in my life.

So what does it entail? As my sister-in-law commented, "Oh yeah, lots of takeout food". Well, I'm trying not to fall into that habit although I must say that we're eating small frozen pizza tarts at least once a week. The rest of the time I'm learning culinary skills in trying to serve nutritious and interesting food. I find that my husband who always has a healthy appetite has now turned into one yawning mouth. I discovered a great recipe for eggplant last week so we have that dish once a week. Also found a recipe on the net from Dr. Ben Kim for zucchini spaghetti. Nothing lasts forever and he'll be out of the cast and back on his feet in August. We already cancelled our August vacation because of his reeducation.

I remember the good old days BTA (before the accident) when he cooked dinner and we both shopped for food, etc. etc. Now it's cooking two meals a day, food shopping practically every day, taking down the garbage, watching the dishes pile up in the sink, and etc. etc.

ER Scandal

Just finished reading my friend, Island Girl's blog relating to the scandal in the King's County emergency waiting room . This brings to mind a similar story regarding a patient lying on a rollaway bed in the ER of Harlem's Knickerbocker Hospital several decades ago. The patient died. Her name was Billie Holiday.
Unfortunately for her, she was checked in under her marriage name but so what? It's the same old story and we haven't learned our lesson yet. Hospitals understaffed and staff overworked and underpaid. I knew a male nurse who worked in the Knickerbocker emergency room at the time of Ms. Holiday's demise. He performed doctor's duties when he had to and wound up every night with a bloody uniform. The problem is deep and who has solutions? A little compassion goes a long way...

Women in Jazz (Femmes du Jazz)

Friday, June 20th, one day ahead of the Fête de la Musique in France, the CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) presented a Conference-Concert at their building , located at 27 rue Paul Bert, Ivry, near to the Porte d'Ivry and just outside of Paris.

On the bill: Marie Buscatto, Research scientist and Sociology Professor at the Paris University 1 Pantheon - Sorbonne. Buscatto presented her work on women in jazz.

The concert, a rencontre of the duo: bassist, Alice Bassie, guitarist, Marie-Ange Martin and French singer, Fabienne and African-American singer, Manda Djinn, was appreciated by all.

Many thanks to the CNRS for this peek into the world of women in jazz, varied in styles and outlooks.

Show biz etiquette

You're an opening act. The boss says, "Okay, we've got an act coming on after you. Please limit your performance to forty-five minutes. Okay?" You answer, "Okay, fine. I got you."

Forty-five minutes pass, you're on a roll, the audience is yours, so you keep on singing, playing, joking, whatever. One hour goes by and the next act is pacing the floor and so is the boss. He gives you the cutthroat sign, meaning finish. Now. You keep right on. Waves of love and joy flow from the audience. You keep right on. Finally after an hour and a half you wind up and give it your all.

Happy with yourself aren't you? Well, you've just committed on of the worse examples of disrespect for the boss and the fellow artist following your long-winded performance. If you were opening for another artist, you've just worn out the audience and he will have to dig himself out of a hole.

If you were in on an evening with two separate shows then you've completely thrown off the evening schedule. Tables have to be cleaned, chairs rearranged, new sound installed etc. The next show is a half hour late beginning. All because your ego wouldn't let go and you don't know about team work and respecting others' time and talent.

The sad part of this experience is that you probably didn't learn the lesson this time and maybe you won't until perhaps you have a chance to open for a major artist and you suddenly have to discipline yourself to stop your performance "on a dime", like after five minutes or ten or fifteen. It won't matter if the audience is giving you standing ovations. Nobody cares! It's show biz. There are rules. Do your time the best you can and get off. This is one of the marks of a true professional artist.