Arrived to warmth in the seventies today, in my corduroy coat and sweater. Dazed by the bright sun. I'd curled up on the two seats and slept on the plane, and now I was stiff and dry and unwashed in rain-encrusted jeans and mascara from the night before. I'm stripped of analysis, consciousness, memory - all that's left is to simply be.

My last night in New York, and I didn't want to sleep. It had rained ferociously during the day and into the evening, and while normally the weather would have coaxed me to stay in with a cup of hot chocolate and a few silly DVDs, when would I be in New York again? So I hitched a cab ride down to Tribeca and rallied the hardworking team at Invasiv. My jeans, socks, and shoes were soaked through. My umbrella had broken so I bought a new one. I wanted to surround myself with people.

First stop, since it was about 8, was food - Korean barbecue. We headed up to K-town and I got sloshed on shoju. After dinner, karaoke was suggested. Just a few doors down we secured a private room and ordered some beers.

The party was on the verge of breaking up. But I refused to let it. I don't know how the notion of a strip club had come up, but since it had, somehow, I insisted. In spite of the late hour and the flagging spirits of everyone I managed to convince the group that it would be a great idea to go look at half-dressed women dancing sultrily with poles.

Strip clubs are not somewhere you go with a boyfriend or girlfriend, I would say. Because strip clubs are after all about sex, and it's not necessarily to the advantage of your significant other to watch or be watched in that context. Souris went home, but Silvio stayed out. And the eight of us - seven boys and me - went to Flashdancers because it would, said David, be the cheapest.

I immediately felt a rapport with the first girl who danced near our table. As the guest of honor, I had the closest seat. But of course, it's their job to build rapport, and this girl was good at it. She leaned over and asked me in a friendly fashion if it was still raining. I told her it had stopped. I complimented her on her navel jewerlry, which was a fantastic piece of rhinestonery. She said, "Thanks! I just got it!" She was beautiful. Dark-skinned. All the strippers seemed to have perfect skin. Someone - I can't remember who - bought me a back massage and the woman came over to do it and did a marvelous job.

David paid an amazing amount of money to go to the Champagne room to get a semi-private dance with me and a very pretty Japanese girl called Miko. At first she concentrated on David, but he graciously asked her to turn her attention on me, which she did. It was so hot. Who doesn't love female bodies? So smooth, warm, curvy and luscious.

But I was exhausted. I came back out of the Champagne room and promptly fell asleep on the chairs. It was time to head home.

In a fog, I made my bed and collapsed under the covers in my dirty clothes. I woke up three hours later, packed up, and, still drunk from shoju, beer, and champagne, walked down to meet my car. The city felt unreal to me, like moving images from someone else's experience. I showed up at the airport and realized I'd mistaken my flight time - I was an hour early. I sat by the gate and started to write this account. Today I feel a fever coming on, but it's not so bad. I'll play a show tomorrow at Bottom of the Hill. But tonight, I'll go to bed at seven and sleep for twelve wonderful hours.