September 03, 2007
Dear Diary,
DAY ONE
We hit traffic about 2 seconds after getting on the highway. I thought Rick was exaggerating his confusion about where all the cars might have come from, so I told him to "shut up." He hasn't talked to me since.
Ahhhhh, New York. I thought that, by now, I'd have a good idea about what to expect from you. But you are mysterious and fickle and, quite frankly, I'm over it.
Are you in a band on tour? Do want to play an awesome show in NYC on a Saturday night? Do you want to get new fans? Sell some records? Get some gas money? Experience that awesome glow of self-respect the morning after?
We can't help you.
DAY TWO
Leaving New York took almost no time and was actually pretty easy. I'll take that as a sign.
Rick did an impersonation of Marlon Brando singing a Leonard Cohen song. It was okay, but I refuse to encourage this madness.
At least we weren't listening to the spoken word CD that's in German. None of us speak German. I've never felt so "on drugs" without drugs before listening to it.
We played the Alphabet game to ease tension between us. Y'know, one person says "apple," the next person says "apple, banana," and so on. It's kind of a wholesome game. But we soiled it with our dirty minds and invented combinations that, in hindsight, make me sick to my stomach. Rick nearly killed us while trying to come up with a shitty limerick with the old over-the-curb-and-into-the-gas pump manuever. And now, there is more tension.
Maine smelled and looked amazing the second we entered. Even the crossword puzzle I was working on got easier. We passed one beautiful and dreamy old structure after another and I've decided that New England has never let me down and that this was no exception.
My only complaint is the golf ball sized bruise on the top of my left foot. I must have done something while trying to get comfortable in the back seat. I think I'm the only person in the world who gets hurt relaxing
And Portland couldn't be anymore sweet looking. I arrived with certain expectations about what I was to see - old people missing some digits, "poverty," etc. But those things weren't around. It has kind of an eastern "Northen Exposure" feel. It made me wish I could star in a TV dramedy.
We stayed with some friends in a wonderful apartment with sky lights and shiny wooden floors. Basically, I'm kind of blind, but I think it's making me hallucinate, which is awesome.
A call home confirmed my poor dog's diarrhea. I imagine him wandering around and looking for me. Enough of that. My heart is breaking.
The show we played was quiet and cute and in the teeny, tiniest book store that ever lived. One person absolutely fell asleep while I was playing and Bobby insisted that he almost passed out as well. He swore it wasn't boredom, but he said it with a lot of "fuck off" in his eyes.
A million thank yous to South China, by the way.
DAY THREE
Woke to the sun in my eyes and it was kind of glorious - even after I told Bobby I was the one that punched him in the night while he was snoring. Jerusha made us delicious breakfast and took us to Casco Bay. Now, even though this was my very first time there, I recognized it as being Maine in about one second.
We walked on soft grass, kicked around in the water, smiled at each other - it felt like a wonderful, sunny summer afternoon. Our own private afternoon with hundreds of sailboats off in the distance. Oh, and hundreds of people encroaching on our property - and hundreds of cars driving around, and - well, it felt very private anyway.
I might have actually managed a few personless photos. We'll see.
Labor Day traffic sucks. It will suck forever. Aside from worrying that Courtney might vomit on me, though, the ride was completely bearable. Hell, even when you leave the place, they have two lost souls wearing a lobster and a moose costume and they pass out cookie cutters. What's not to love?
More later.
We hit traffic about 2 seconds after getting on the highway. I thought Rick was exaggerating his confusion about where all the cars might have come from, so I told him to "shut up." He hasn't talked to me since.
Ahhhhh, New York. I thought that, by now, I'd have a good idea about what to expect from you. But you are mysterious and fickle and, quite frankly, I'm over it.
Are you in a band on tour? Do want to play an awesome show in NYC on a Saturday night? Do you want to get new fans? Sell some records? Get some gas money? Experience that awesome glow of self-respect the morning after?
We can't help you.
DAY TWO
Leaving New York took almost no time and was actually pretty easy. I'll take that as a sign.
Rick did an impersonation of Marlon Brando singing a Leonard Cohen song. It was okay, but I refuse to encourage this madness.
At least we weren't listening to the spoken word CD that's in German. None of us speak German. I've never felt so "on drugs" without drugs before listening to it.
We played the Alphabet game to ease tension between us. Y'know, one person says "apple," the next person says "apple, banana," and so on. It's kind of a wholesome game. But we soiled it with our dirty minds and invented combinations that, in hindsight, make me sick to my stomach. Rick nearly killed us while trying to come up with a shitty limerick with the old over-the-curb-and-into-the-gas pump manuever. And now, there is more tension.
Maine smelled and looked amazing the second we entered. Even the crossword puzzle I was working on got easier. We passed one beautiful and dreamy old structure after another and I've decided that New England has never let me down and that this was no exception.
My only complaint is the golf ball sized bruise on the top of my left foot. I must have done something while trying to get comfortable in the back seat. I think I'm the only person in the world who gets hurt relaxing
And Portland couldn't be anymore sweet looking. I arrived with certain expectations about what I was to see - old people missing some digits, "poverty," etc. But those things weren't around. It has kind of an eastern "Northen Exposure" feel. It made me wish I could star in a TV dramedy.
We stayed with some friends in a wonderful apartment with sky lights and shiny wooden floors. Basically, I'm kind of blind, but I think it's making me hallucinate, which is awesome.
A call home confirmed my poor dog's diarrhea. I imagine him wandering around and looking for me. Enough of that. My heart is breaking.
The show we played was quiet and cute and in the teeny, tiniest book store that ever lived. One person absolutely fell asleep while I was playing and Bobby insisted that he almost passed out as well. He swore it wasn't boredom, but he said it with a lot of "fuck off" in his eyes.
A million thank yous to South China, by the way.
DAY THREE
Woke to the sun in my eyes and it was kind of glorious - even after I told Bobby I was the one that punched him in the night while he was snoring. Jerusha made us delicious breakfast and took us to Casco Bay. Now, even though this was my very first time there, I recognized it as being Maine in about one second.
We walked on soft grass, kicked around in the water, smiled at each other - it felt like a wonderful, sunny summer afternoon. Our own private afternoon with hundreds of sailboats off in the distance. Oh, and hundreds of people encroaching on our property - and hundreds of cars driving around, and - well, it felt very private anyway.
I might have actually managed a few personless photos. We'll see.
Labor Day traffic sucks. It will suck forever. Aside from worrying that Courtney might vomit on me, though, the ride was completely bearable. Hell, even when you leave the place, they have two lost souls wearing a lobster and a moose costume and they pass out cookie cutters. What's not to love?
More later.
Labels: friends, music, stories, tour
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