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 Rain. Rain. Rain. Rain with wind. Rain with the scent of fall on it.
Rain with thunder, the kind that lights silver and loud against tin roofs and
stains the sky bright, crash upon consecutive crash. Down at the Warehouses,
where Boulder bands rehearse, because it's cheap, because it's far enough
away from any one that will mind band noise, because it's a sort of a
tradition, we gather at 6:00pm. Musicians sulk around like skinny, crooked, shadows
in the slick, wet parking lot smoking cigarettes and waiting for their
drummers to show up. Some of these poor guys have to live here. The bands
that suck too badly to live off their gig money live here, and the ones who
tour too much to justify paying rent on an apartment. Our very own Kyle used
to live here, coincidentally, right in this very warehouse room we're
rehearsing in: #50, next to the "Bus Stop," N. Boulder's tittie bar; next
to "The Other Place," N. Boulder's other coffee shop; next to the homeless
shelter. Off route 36.Unit #50 belongs to Zimmerman Stine, who happens to be a friend of Soucy's. He's renting us his room for $35 bucks a night and we ain't complaining. The room is really just a glorified brown cardboard box with a couple windows and a loft for some poor bastard to sleep in if they had to. The carpet is red and frayed on all sides and dirty as if it'd been left out in the rain for 40 years. But I used to rehearse down here in a different unit with a band called "Doppler Circus" and that space was 10 times worse. The warehouses are pretty quiet when we arrive and load in but within the hour there will be more than 20 bands filling up the North Boulder area with a soup of colorful sound: Thrash, Bluegrass, Punk, Rock and Reggae..lots of reggae, bad covers of "Brown eyed Girl" bad covers of "Blinded me with Science" bad covers of "Fire and Rain." Even though it's raining, we leave the door open, like the rest of the bands, to avoid the must and the dank and the mold and stank that grows on you if you stick around too long. The fan's on too, even though it's cold, I have a brilliant idea to spray the "imitation Drakkar" at the spinning fan blades thinking it will make the room smell, but instead the "imitation Drakkar" sprays directly back on me and now I'm the one who smells. I guess The Samples use to rehearse here in unit #50 because there's a huge spray paint stencil that says: "The Samples" on the cement floor in orange under the drum carpet. We stick a STB sticker next to it for good measure. Soucy's chowin' on a huge burrito full of beans and rice and now the room smells of mold and burrito and imitation Drakkar and I'm not feeling much like practicing anyhow. We rehearse for a couple hours, then talk, then take a quick tour of the other warehouse units to peer, from the dark, into other bands lives for a second, before we load the van and go home to catch an early night. But I don't get an early night because I decide to pack. What to pack? What to pack? And then the trying-things-on period begins, followed by what I actually NEED in the "pretty bag" versus what I WANT. Which shampoo? Which necklace? Do I need a toe nail clipper? How much body lotion will I use? Then I have to choose which books I want to read, which tapes, which knitting project, vitamins, sunglasses. How many packs of guitar strings? How much will I use my camera if I bring it? Rollerbades or no rollerblades? By 3:00 am I've filled 6 bags which will inevitably explode inside the van and now I only have time for a three hour nap, before we have to leave for Salt Lake City. I crawl like a hermit crab into my bed for the last hours of night, for the last hours of vacation. I can't wait to get out on the road again! August 31 2000, Salt Lake City, The Zephyr Broad streets, Broad empty streets, Broad empty streets full of sky. Gary, the sound engineer, meets us outside on 300 south with a cigarette and a hand for loading the equipment in. My legs don't want to unbend from the 520 miles spent sitting, spent sleeping and reading and knitting my blue scarf. Spent laughing and eating Swedish fish and catching up with the boys. A month away from each other turned out to be a long time, but probably just long enough because as it turns out, we really missed each other. I'd spent most of Aug. on Martha's Vineyard trying to rest but mostly working on getting the album ready for her national release date (Sept 15th), when it should be available in stores all over the country. Soucy spent his vacation at home in Jersey at The Raptor Trust: "I walked around with a staple gun," he says "and cleaned green bird goo off cages for my pop." "And," ads Kyle sarcastically: "He went down to Tijuana, sold copious amounts of marijuana, hung out with beach whores and his new wife who he says: "he had a great time." Kenny worked during his days off, at the print shop. Kyle went back to Chicago and Nebraska and back on the road to play with Johnny Moganbo for his vacation "and I went to Grand Lake with my pretty wife"; yells Kyle from the back of the van: "damn, I should have said that first!" And Delucchi worked at Tulagi's, trained for a grueling triathlon, and pursued a woman (not mentioning any names: Stephanie) "who has my heart." Says Delucchi. So why do we bother taking vacations at all if we're all gonna work? I wonder to myself. Salt Lake City in the fall is quite pretty. The heat doesn't hurt the way it does in June and people's smiles hang lightly about their faces and in their eyes. In the dressing room I do some vocal exercises and look around the mirror for new band stickers when my eyes run across some curious scribble on the wall. In child like, left handed pencil scratch I read: "Who is this Chris Soucy and why does he keep blowing my mind?" It not like there's a lot of writing on the walls. In fact, It's the only graffiti amongst a sea of band stickers plastered on every available surface. When I point it out to The Doc - Soucy - he insists that I must have written it and was playing a joke on him. But I swear it was not I. We didn't really think it was anyone from the stickered bands on the wall and why Chris? After all, 100's of bands go in and out of The Zephyr every month besides, who would have known how to spell Chris's last name? Very odd. The show's fun. Our friend Noah had printed us these banners he made of the album cover, which are really cool! and we get to see some old friends. The guy's chest I'd signed last time in SLC isn't around but a friend of his, Jason, lets me write a note on his arm to Jimmy. The night gets damn near cold and I do a little interview up stairs before loading out. From there on out it's: 3.2 beer, load out, "which room? Which room? Uhhhh 251 or 351." Sleep sleep sleep. Sit ups and push ups with The Doc. (Soucy). And breakfast at the Judge. Thank you Salt Lake City! September 3, 2000 The Casper Inn, Casper CA "This place use to be a brothel," says Melissa who is just finishing cleaning up our rooms. Her brown hair is thrown up on her head like a hurricane and she's wearing a little black taffeta skirt, tall black combat boots, and a black T-shirt tied in a knot in front. The dirty maid's uniform of the new century I think to myself and all the boys are glued to her as she bends over to pick up an arm full of dirty laundry. The hallways are painted yellow and glow in the mid afternoon sun, brilliantly like orange marmalade. The floors slant to the south so badly that, left to it's own devices, our north facing door left ajar, slams violently without warning. Soucy and I put our bags away in #6 which is by far the smallest space I've ever had to share with anyone but completely cute and funky. The snoring room is directly across the hall. #9, with bunk beds and patchwork quilts. It's located directly above the low rider; purple velvet lined bar room stage downstairs on the first floor. The place is right out of the 1800's I thought, looking around at the saloon, feeling as though some disgruntled cowboy might come in shootin' at any moment. There isn't much in the town of Casper save for a couple of houses overgrown with weeds and cows and chicken wire and of course there's a church. We decided to go down to the shoreline and beach a while before sound check. Man! Pretty! We walk along a dramatic cliff line, which cuts away hundreds of feet below, where the ocean laps thirsty tongues at the crumbling clay walls. A little snake slithers by. "Look, a garter snake." Says Soucy. Thinking he said 'gardener', I repeat to him: "GARDENER SNAKE." I yell with delight trying to touch it. "Garter, Sally, Garter snake." He corrects me as though I were one of his fifth grade students. Soucy can't stand to let a mistake go uncorrected. It drives him crazy the way it drives me crazy to hear the chomping of potato chips or fingernails on a chalkboard. "GARDENER SNAKE." I yell out with the same enthusiasm. "GARTER GARTER GARTER," he says annoyedly, and Kenny and I laugh. We find a steep muddy path down to the beach and manage to cover ourselves in muck on the way down. There's not too many people on the beach and there's all sorts of Pacific Ocean algae creatures that have washed up on the shore to play with and throw at each other and put down each other's shirts until we're all sandy and wet and tackled and our bellies ache from all the laughter inside us. The sun sets over the meditating, slow and hypnotic ocean and we stand, sand packed up to our calves, in the chilly ocean watching it dip itself below the surface and spread itself golden across the expanding distance between here and tomorrow. Good day. September 4th 2000, The Golden Gate Park, San Fran CA White blankets on a green lawn and I feel as though I've been here before. My childhood was filled with this sort of outing. Backstage catering, beer tents, lawn chairs, face paints, green sloping hills crowded with dissheveled towels, dancers with flapping arms and burnt but smiling faces, blue cherry snow cones and the smell of charcoaled shishkebabs smoking over there, or there or whereever the subtle breeze is coming from ... and music. Hour and hours of MUSIC. Music as pure as the air, which carries it to the sun drenched faces where beer buzzed smiles yell out for more and more and never stop! Please! One more tune! ONE MORE! It was great to play to all those people Labor-daying, laborlessly listening to music, the hum of surrounding conversations and their children all combining with the sound of the cloudless sky and the cheering before and after each song. The lungs are deeper on days like this. The sky is taller. September 5th, 2000 Sweetwater, Mill Valley CA We wake up early at Delucchi's parent's house. Bob and Judy Delucchi are kind and crazy enough to let all of us stay at their place while we're in the Bay Area. The morning hurts my eyes, which are red and puffy due to a non-specific, nothing to worry about, emotional tear fest I participated in the night before. Bacon, toast with jelly, scrambled eggs, and OJ. It's nice to be in a home. A half dozen sunflowers that Jeff gave me yesterday, peer statuesquely from a vase on the sunlit counter. We're suppose to be at the Liquid Audio.com studio by 12 noon and so we were out of the house by 11. The studio is in suburbia and we need snacks. "Snacky cakes!"** we all yelp at Delucchi who has, up 'til now logged every hour between home and the West Coast. We stop and get sandwiches in the gas station deli section. I get a Stewart's root beer, which the lady behind the counter puts in a little paper bag, so I look like a boozer walking around the store sipping pop out of the brown bag. "Down goes sandwich!" yells a dismayed Kyle, dropping his sandwich on the ground. He frowns while we stand around in the halogen lit deli section of the gas station laughing and pointing. A little bottle of 'country summer time' air freshener looks way too appealing to not open and spray multiple times on the front of Soucy's shirt before re-capping it and running away and because he's on line for the bathroom he can't chase me without losing his spot. The boys try on flourescent camouflage fishing hats. "What situation's this s'post ta camouflage ya in?" asks Kyle looking up holding an orange hat in his hand. "A forest fire" says Delucchi and we all look at him cross-eyed and laugh. When we get to studio 48, Erik, the engineer greets us with a smile, yellow spike hair, and a mellow hyperness that I some how relate to. We plan on staying only a couple of hours but 4 hours later we're still there. Chris is in the black and white tiled bathroom with headphones on, playing the lap steel guitar into a couple of mics and I'm figuring out the last verse to a new song that I want to try to lay down for the first time. In total we do 4 songs. 3 new tunes: "Memorial Day," "Disaster," and a song called "October," which Soucy and I co-wrote. The 4th song is an acoustic version of "For Kim." They all come out really well for first takes and will be up on liquidaudio.com in the next week or so. So while we're excitedly charting new tunes, the rest of the band is wilting in the van, playing virtual golf and wondering when we'll be done. We make it to The Sweetwater by 6 and I go try everything on in a store down the street but, thank God, don't find anything that I need to have. It's hot and I wander around the town square talking to Ariel, my publicist, on the phone about upcoming interviews and the oddnesses of love. We eat down the street at a high-end pizza place. "How long do you think it took me to realize that getting a perm was a very bad idea?" asked Kyle "How long?" we ask, already laughing hysterically. "Almost immediately." Says Kyle and now we're all doubled over in breathless laughter. I didn't expect that many people to come to the show it being the day after Labor Day and all, but the Sweetwater was packed with friendly faces. So many old friends showed up: Coors from Telluride, Jason from Maximo's in New Orleans on his Harley, Bessy, Delucchi's little sister and Sandy from Boulder. Sacha Berriro, my high school boy friend showed up with his beautiful and sweet new girl friend, and Erik, the engineer, who's our newest love, came too. We hang out after the show, downstairs in the green room separating the M & M's by color and content, drinking dark wine and talking about how great it is to travel about the country with our best friends doing what we love to do best. **VOCABULARY: Snacky Cakes: Snacks purchased from a gas station. September 7th 2000, Café Tomo, Arcada CA I kept buying things in gas stations: postcards, pens, miniature disposable cameras, dream catcher key chains, can openers with funny slogans, hopping that "this trinket" "this doo-dad" "this piece of plastic will be just what I’ve been missing in my life." Silly, I know, but haven’t you ever felt the absence of something and had no idea what it might be? As it turns out, what I was missing was an hour in a secluded hot spring shrouded by a canopy of pine trees and a cup of twig tea. I found what I was missing up in Arcada the day after the show at Café Tomo. Soucy came with me to Café Mokka (the hot spring) and we got in to the joint on a crumpled, stained, soggy pass, which had expired the year before. Life in Arcada California is pretty cool. The law is laid back enough so that cops who wander the town square, in starched black and blue passing by dredlocked, dirty by choice, macraméd, kids who casually smoke weed on the corner and beat on drums, smile as though they’ve caught a contact high off them and turn their heads. Café Mokka is sort of run down, or maybe it was never built up to begin with. A murky, green duck pond sits stagnant in the center of a circle of tub huts and the soft, silvery moss has taken up residence on every thing. When I get into the hot water I can feel the painful pressure that’s been weighing on my heart lifted, and I can’t think about work or the next gig or the drive back to San Fran; just the stillness of the moment and the light which pours through the trees like water through a helpless strainer. I was high for the rest of the day, who’s sunny-ness was brighter than any day I can recall since I was 5 and the breeze was summer with a hint of autumn. I bought some beads and knitted them into a bracelet on the deserted beach where we played and ran around and ate the ripest most delicious organic cantaloupe melon that Norm and Frank gave us the night before when we’d danced and drank the wine they’d made for us from their own grapes and decorated their "crash pad" with smiles and laughter and music. September 9th, 2000, Rainbow Orchards, Camino CA I’ve never been in an orchard, let alone played one and neither had any one else in the band. It was the best thing I can imagine. People everywhere, surrounded by smiling, sparkling children playing in frilly dresses hiding behind the apple trees which looked like calloused old jazz players' hands. The stage was right in the middle of the wavy apple orchard and save for a little patch of cleared, treeless space where people went to dance, the audience was hidden in the shade of trees covered with juicy apples which clung like Christmas ornaments to the crooked dark branches. I thought it must be the most magical place I’ve ever been. The people were great too, all generous and happy and dusty like the earth. We were playing right before Jefferson Starship and bubbles floated past the stage as we poured our hearts out into the orchard. When we were signing CDs some little boys came up and blew some bubbles for me which I caught in my mouth and blew back at them. They loved the trick and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing bubble games with them, drinking cider, and lying beneath apple trees on a patchwork quilt, slurping on peaches, listening to the psychedelic sounds of Jefferson Starship drift new kaleidoscopic colors over the sky, which poured through the cracks in opened branches. We met a bunch of really cool cops there. Since we almost got arrested in McAlester, Oklahoma, in May, I thought it would be funny to take some pictures in a McAlester, OK T-shirt, with the cops. They said they were game and the next thing we knew, all of us were taking turns putting on the T-shirt and letting the cops direct us in the pictures. It was hysterical! "OK, now we’ll throw you in the back of the paddy wagon and you try to escape." They said. "Here, put on these hand cuffs" "Now, let’s do a dominatrix one. Hold my club Sally and pretend you’re going to hit us and we’ll bow down at your feet." They called out different scenarios and who was I to say ‘no’ to a bunch of cops. It was so fun any way! After we’d run out of film, we jumped in Moby to head off to Lake Tahoe. The promoters at the orchard sent us away with a carton of peaches, a jug of cider, a frozen apple pie and aching bellies from laughing so hard. Man what a day!  September 12, 2000, Tulare County Fair, Tulare CA It was our CD release night and 25 people were there. Quite a sad turn out for a sea of 500 folding chairs under the red and billowing Budweiser Tent. The 25 who did come were very enthusiastic about our sound and mostly oblivious to who we were or where we were from. Cotton candy (of which I ate WAY too much of), candy apples, men in stilts, men in clown’s costumes on tricycles, dart games, air brushing stands, and lights. Many many many sparkling flashing lights. We had two sets spilt up by a hypnotist show put on by Steve with whom we were sharing a trailer. He gave me one of his sparkling rhinestone belts and later, a tape that would hypnotize Soucy and I and help me, he said, with my increasingly intolerable insomnia. Our first set was pretty uneventful. But during the second set a very drunk man wandered over to the stage, pulled down his pants and tried to pee on our equipment. Needless to say, he was arrested and escorted out, pants down, legs dangling. Latter, during "4 Kim," fireworks started going off like crazy!! At first I thought it was my guitar cracking in the monitor and when I discovered the huge finale fire work show in the sky I stared cracking up so badly I couldn’t finish the song. Back at the hotel, Soucy and I popped on Steve’s hypnosis tape and we’re … well … hypnotized. It was SO cool. I’d never been hypnotized and man did I sleep well after that! Unfortunately I had a reoccurring dream about being in a plane crash. But hey, at least I slept. September 13th 2000 Luna Park, LA CA No AC in Moby (EEEKKKKK!) spelled trouble for the long drive through Death Valley between Tulare and Los Angeles. Windows down made no difference in the stifling heat, which burned as much in "park" as at 90 mph going down the highway. I think Kyle had it the worst. He’s a big guy and sweats a lot as it is. He had to sit in the back, which had the least amount of ventilation so when we stopped at a gas station and ran full speed toward the air-conditioned building, he asked me: "Do you love me Sal" "So much Kyle, you know that." "Enough to fix that AC NOW? RIGHT NOW!?!" We stood inside the gas station for as long as we possibly could, dreading getting back in the van. We didn’t get gas, we didn’t buy juice or candy or postcards or key chains, we didn’t even use the rest rooms. There, in the middle of Death Valley, in the middle of the store we just blatantly loitered. I rubbed ice cubes I stole from an opened cooler displaying Pepsi Cola 20oz, on the boy’s backs and arms to cool them down ... Band maintenance if you will, and we made up a little song. Soucy started it really. We took the melody from "New River Train," a traditional country tune, and rewrote it as "You can’t love ONE" "Darlin you can’t love one Darlin you can’t love one ya can’t love one and have any fun Darlin you can’t love one. Darlin you can’t love two Darlin you can’t love two You can’t love two Cus you won't know which one loves you Darlin you can’t love two……" We all took turns making up different verses, meanwhile blocking the entrance and laughing at full volume as people "’scuse me-ed" and squeezed by. "..You can’t love three and still claim to be free.." "….Can’t love four, man cus that could be a chore…" "…Five cus it might cost you your live.." "…Six baby that’s too many _____’s" "…Seven cus you might not get to heaven…" "…Eight, cus that’s too many to date…" "…Nine, cus that’s too good of a time…" Well you get the idea… The rest of the trip Soucy kindly read from his novel about a captain, Sir Ernest Shackleton who, in 1914, got his crew stuck in the Antarctic in an ice floe. And when we got sick of the story line he generously picked out pertinent words and phrases like: "Ice-encased boat, seals, icebergs, ice floes, igloos, cold wind, freezing gusts, sea gulls," he read. It helped a little. A very little. With the windows opened wide, wind whistling by at 105 degrees, cell phones ringing and cutting in and out, the smell of cow shit and essential oils filling the van we made it through the desert and into the city of Lost Angels. The show was fantastic. CNN came to sound check and did a little interview with me, and our audience turned out to be filled with friends and familiar faces. Then we all partied up at this rockstar mansion with a swimming pool and a view of the city where we ended up staying over at the invitation of the actor who lived there. Rock out! September 16th 2000, Doheny Days, Dana Point CA Word of the day: "Lanyard" Phrase of the day "Lamies & Lanyards" Pet Peeves: Kyle hates when the wind blows on him and the loose hair from his pony tail tickles at his face. He also hates the sound of Styrofoam cups being rubbed together. I hate the sound of any crunchy food being chewed. Especially carrots, pretzels, popcorn and chips. I also hate the way red meat feels on my back teeth. I can’t even watch other people eat it. Kenny hates when he’s the last person to get his meal. He also hates when he gets hassled for not having a lami (laminate) when he’s been in and out of back stage all day already. Soucy hates it when he orders a Caesar salad and gets iceberg lettuce. He hates that a lot! Delucchi hates when people walk down the street and don’t acknowledge that you’re even there. "That’s the route of all evil on this earth," he says "... and our government" he adds with a little chuckle. New Band Inventions: A Bumper: When you go to hug a band member but instead of embracing, you stick your belly out, bumping it against the counter belly while blowing a synchronized raspberry to the left. Talking to "the job": when a band member of the male persuasion, can’t take their eyes off a lady’s chest during conversation, especially when that lady has had surgery to enlarge her chest girth. (If you catch my meaning) "’Nutha": adding "’Nutha’" into perfectly grammatically correct sentences. For Example: "I’ll see you some ‘nutha time." "That’s some ‘nutha city we’ve played." "No! Not that ‘nutha monitor mix." The Roller: A cheek kiss with tongue. You put your cheek to some ‘nutha band member’s cheek and roll your tongue into the side of your cheek through which you can sort of feel the tongue of the other band member. It’s almost "wrong" we’ve decided. So there’s a no grandparents and no 3rd grade teacher clause on that kiss. Nicknames: Delucchi: Monsters Kenny: Huggy Bear, K’nny! Sally: Smoochi Kyle: Oso! Soucy: Doc Favorite "Snacky Cakes": Kyle: Spree & Arizona Ice Tea ("With Ginseng extract"). Delucchi: Gummy Bears & Licorice and Nantucket Nectars ("Peach orange…yummy") Soucy: Carrot cake cliff bar & Arizona Green Tea ("But I don’t like all that high corn syrup content. Could you mention that if anyone out there from Arizona Ice tea is reading this, could you please put the corn syrup on the side in maybe a little packet, for those of us who would rather not ingest all that sugar) Kenny: Klondike Bar & Drum stick ice cream bars Sally (me): Peanuts in the shell, Bit-O-Honey & Arizona Green Tea ("But, unlike the Doc, I like the high fructose corn syrup in it") I tried to apply red nail polish to my naked toes in the van on I-405 to Dana Point. Bad Idea. In the passenger seat I propped my feet on the dash and held the polish brush still, letting the bumpy highway jounce my nails against the bristles. Needless to say the entire foot got covered in red polish, and much of the dashboard. We’d woken up at the Miramar hotel in Santa Monica. Soucy and I went for a run along the beach where thousands of joggers passed breathlessly all wearing "Los Angeles Marathon in training" T-shirts. It must have been the first week of training because there were too many people, too out of shape. "25,000 ‘nutha little sweaty reasons not to move to LA," muttered Soucy, going into the bathroom. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed Soucy?" I yelled after him, which put him into smart-ass mode for the rest of the morning. The show was outside at the beach. There were two stages but never were two bands playing at the same time. They just overlapped perfectly. Venders called out at us as we walked along the festival: "come look at these shirts," "these bathing suits," "these sky chairs" and so on. It was sunny and hot and smelled like chicken teriyaki and flat beer. It was a great day full of music: Tommy Castro Dave Mason Ozomotli Steve Miller Band John Lee Hooker And, well ... Us. September 29th 2000 Driving East 900 miles between Boulder and Malden, Missouri. Corn and cows and cumulous puffing on the horizon. I’m standing at a counter somewhere in Kansas at a gas station when I notice myself in black & white on the TV security screen overhead. It’s just my back, mine and Kenny’s and the lady behind the counter and some candy and the juice I’m buying. "Look Kenny," I say grabbing and maintaining a strong hold on Kenny’s upper arm "We’re on TV!!" and I’m still looking up at the image of mine and Kenny’s backs, my arm squeezing lovingly down on Kenny’s arm when I hear, not Kenny’s voice coming out of the man standing beside me. The man who I am holding, who is not Kenny at all, says: "At least I’m not doing anything I’m not suppose to be doing." I release my grip and slowly turn my head to see the man who’s standing next to me, who is not Kenny, and who is, in fact 30 years Kenny’s senior, smile and leave the gas station to laugh about the incident with the rest of the band. We're excited about this last strand of shows! September 30th 2000 - The Malden Youth Museum, Malden MO An hour outside of St Louis we stop for gas and snaky cakes. That’s when I notice it’s missing. My wallet and my keys. We strip-search the van before I conclude that: "it must be back at the motel." I’m standing in the Missouri sun at noon, my suitcase spread out, garage sale style, across the gas stained pavement, begging the lady at the St Louis Motel to, please, go search the room. I offer her money in exchange for her help but all she can tell me is that she’s the only person at the front desk and can’t leave it to search for my wallet. I’d lost my wallet the last East Coast tour and was not about to let this one go so easily. Flashes of me standing on line at the Boulder DMV again for hours on end had me in a frantic and distraught place that made the boys nervous and the lady at the motel finally take pity on me, for she finally paid room #136 a visit. "Nope. No wallet." She said. "But it’s got to be there." I insistently pleaded until she finally found it. " It was all rolled up in the sheets." She said and promised to send it to me on the road. Malden MO. 5,000 people live there, and there resides the Malden Youth Museum. I’d never been to a youth museum, let alone played one but it turned out to be really great. There were toys everywhere! Mitch and Patsy our promoters showed us all the exhibits. We ran around like 12 year olds checking out all the cool toys, blowing bubbles and wreaking havoc in wheel chairs the whole time, filming with the video camera. We laughed until our sides ached! And then we played on stage. Come to think of it…we’re playing pretty much all the time. It was a pretty good first night and at set break, I got to hang out in front signing CDs in front of three giant coffins and near the dolphin shaped ice sculpture dripping apologetically onto the tray of chocolate covered strawberries. Not your normal scene I must admit. But again it was great. And then again again…who likes normal anyhow? It’s so boring. Which reminds me of a time that I brought my boyfriend home from high school and to meet my mom for the first time. He was nervous to begin with and when my mom opened the door she shook his hand, sat him down and said: "So Sacha, you addicted to anything?" "Noo..no Ms. Simon." He stammered "Nothing Sacha?" "Nu, no" he said with proud conviction, to which she responded: "How boring." It wasn’t that she wanted my boyfriend to be an addict or anything, she just wanted to see a little imperfection, something human, something unusual, something not normal. "Normal" has never been considered a very healthy condition in my household. It means somebody is hiding or humiliated by their humanness and that can’t be healthy. Stephanie, a beautiful blond woman who is somehow affiliated with the museum, jumps up on stage during the second set and starts dancing with Soucy and pouring beer into Kyle’s mouth as he plays the refrain to "Stuck in the Middle." Weird for a youth museum, right? But again, who thrives on normal? I thought she was flirting with Chris a little so during "Use Me Up," which we did as an encore, I whispered to The Doc that he didn’t need to do the extendo guitar solo, he already had obviously impressed someone. "Who?" He wanted to know. "Stephanie." I said. My bad. Stephanie was already married turns out, much to The Doc’s chagrin. "Look for the ring Sal! Look for the ring!!" He scolded me. Oops, sorry Soucy. |
