I wound up getting a last-minute invite to a private Ricky Martin gig at Webster Hall tonight, sponsored by Univision in honor of Uforia. At these corporate gigs, the performer typically does four, maybe five songs; Martin came out and sweated up a storm through 13 songs!

Yes, that N is s'posed to be a V!

He performed all of his most famous hits, in part or in full, shook his bon bon, gave us a lewd JO gesture and shamelessly pitted one side of the audience against the other for his finale. He totally commands the stage, whether with his zillion-dollar smile or his oddly balletic, totally unique dance moves. He's sexy, but is judicious as to what he doles out, so that when he suddenly offers a one-two pelvic thrust or seems to let his hand wander around in his pocket, it feels like pornography.

Really dynamic set, and the crowd of professionals and a few big fans from radio contests was ecstatic without being rude. I survived a G.A. concert with a superstar!

At the end, he tossed his sweaty towel and two girls firmly took hold of it, refusing to let go as they left, exchanging info like they'd been in a fender bender. (The idea was they planned to cut it in half.)

He was looking that good.