July 13th, 2004.

Disaster comes in threes. Is that what I hear? After a fantastic show at the Vault last Friday, and perhaps too much joy, and too many attractive women dancing on the bar… after more fun than OUGHT to be had at a crab feast… and after the joy that was Damian’s party (Damian from Glovia, Damian made infamous by the Quotes Page)… after all of this, the blade fell.

The laptop is declared dead. Justin’s Imac died. The sink puddles and floods.

The Lloydholme air conditioner dies, the Lloyd grandmother’s chair dies, and Justin’s cell phone died.

The incredible Lea at College Perk.


Symbiont at the Thai Gour.


Heather at the Thai Gour.


Lauren running sound at the Thai Gour. She glared much after this pic.

A flying machine built by kittens.

And now I’m worried about launching into another three. The Funk Box show is beginning to worry me.

Last night, I IMed Josh of September Playground because I wanted to clear a couple of last minute contractual details with him. So, THIS is when it is revealed to me that September Playground has cancelled. He’d discussed that with the booking agent a week and a half ago, and had assumed that this would be passed along in a professional manner.


Amy and I found kittens – they were building a flying machine..

So here I am, seven days before the show – and the VENUE doesn’t even know that September Playground isn’t showing. There’s NO sign of the “headlining act” – some national tour de force that the Funk Box had theoretically insisted on booking – and suddenly we’re the only act on the docket. We don’t have ANYONE communicating with us about this, it’s all pretty damned frustrating. It’s got me really worried for the show.

Does anyone want kittens? I can direct you to these beautiful beasts.

Now, I must admit, I have NO problem with playing the show, and think we could have one Hell of a night even – we’d get to play a full length set and go home satisfied – but what if the venue suddenly decides to cancel (we have a contract guaranteeing us money, but since that amount is based on ticket sales, and we’d have to refund those ticket sales, that truly equates to nothing). If the AGENT chooses to cancel it, we get absolutely nothing nohow anyhow – I’m just… frightened.

And we are just “waiting for a response”. Did I do something bad to our karma recently?

Death.

Perhaps Jeff of Symbiont, or maybe Keith of the Dreamscapes Project… maybe one of THEM like, killed someone, or ran over a kitten… and the Karma Balancer Monks mistook one of them for me, and so I’m getting all of their karmic backwash through a cosmic case of mistaken identity. I wonder how I’d go about fixing that. It would probably involve some truly hideous paperwork.

The shy one.

July 29th, 2004.

I hate my ass. I like my butt. But I hate my ass.

Yes, there is a HUGE difference. My butt is a finely muscled mound of two clusters of flesh constructed solely to let me look good in my tight black jeans. My ass, on the other hand, is an insidious master of noxious chemical warfare. IT Lives solely to spew.

It wasn't until it was time to head out of the Thai Gour that the weather hit us. And what weather it was. Good lord. We had several inches to wade through to get to our car. Very distressing - and very cold.
It wasn’t until it was time to head out of the Thai Gour that the weather hit us. And what weather it was. Good lord. We had several inches to wade through to get to our car. Very distressing – and very cold.

I’m not going to continue in this vein much longer, for the sake of the reader – let me just wrap this up by saying that NOW we won’t reach Richmond until closer to midnight, AND that I hate these new little half-doors that they’re putting on all the restroom stalls nowadays AND that I hate automatic flush toilets.

Hehehe - wet Lloyds. Mara was distinctly unhappy that we had to reorganize the car before we could let the rest of her in the car. She kept screaming about her ass (no relation) as we headed away from Thai Gour and into the ferociously precipitous weather.
Hehehe – wet Lloyds. Mara was distinctly unhappy that we had to reorganize the car before we could let the rest of her in the car. She kept screaming about her ass (no relation) as we headed away from Thai Gour and into the ferociously precipitous weather.

I understand that it seems as if the average male can’t be trusted to flush the toilet under such stressful environments as a public restroom, but there MUST be some middle ground, or a sensitivity switch or SOMETHING. These bastard creations of science seem to take a malicious delight in flushing beneath the unprepared buttocks -and all one can do is perhaps attempt to crouch an inch or two above the seat – which still doesn’t quite get you out of range of the horrific splashing. It’s like having a horrible dog licking your bottom, and there is no escape.

Bastard machines. The horrific toilet kraken belched forth it’s swirling suction (can you belch suction?) THREE TIMES beneath my distressed bowels before I could make my escape. God. This MUST happen to Bon Jovi, right? Right?!?

Sigh.

Anywho – the Trip meanders South otherwise uneventfully. Remind Heather to tell her story of the father and daughter stomp assassins…

In my Saturn, I have a 12 disc CD changer, and I generally keep it set to randomly sift through my random music, and with twelve discs of swirling rob-taste floating through my car, even I’M constantly discovering new things.

I think it was from one of Amy’s mix-discs. Beautifully decorated, I forget about them, lurking generally in slot 12 itself – they contribute something often beautiful, sometimes bizarre, often previously unheard to my musical miasma – and tonight, somewhere near Alexandria, right between “Voodoo Child” by Jimi Hendrix and “It’s Raining Men” by the Weather Girls, there was an etheric cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” which I’m pretty sure was being performed by Sarah McLaughlin.

Sarah does Joni with the voice that I wish Joni had. It was gorgeous. Thanks Amy – it matched the wind-torn cloud cover and the bulging, orange moonlight perfectly. Reflected chrome of too-close semis and tail-lights and headlights and streetlights and speed. It was a velvet night.

Currently, I’m working myself up for sleep, winding myself down for slumber. We’re crashing at Chelsea and Beau’s tonight before heading on down to Raleigh. Mariposa didn’t seem too happy to see us at first, but we quickly regained her trust by almost, but not quite, giving her any food.

We watched “Detroit Rock City” which I appreciated more than I’d like to admit. Sigh, I’ll always be the not-quite-bad-ass-enough bad ass in my world, and I like to see the movies where my kind get their vengeance on the world.

Ah, long-Live the dirt rocker. Not that I’m a big KISS fan (does it REALLY stand for Knights in Satan’s Service?), but, you know – if the movie had been about a Van Halen concert, and they actually HAD gone to Disco Inferno… (they DID go to “It’s Raining Men”… I tittered at that.). Tee Hee.

October 3rd, 2004.

My Father is selling his Austin Healey, and it's a little strange to really come to grips with that. He's owned the car for some 33+ years, and I grew up with it's engine sounds. There are a lot of good memories in that car - I had hoped to learn to drive it before the end of high school, and perhaps go to prom in it. At the time I hadn't learned the beauty of big boots, and was literally too short to drive it. I went and took a spin in it the other day - had a great time, though it was like learning to drive all over again. Driving an antique British sports car just isn't much like driving a Saturn. So strange to feel the car respond to MY touch, and make the noises that I associated with Sunday drives with my Dad. Very strange to think that this is car is leaving my Life. The new owner's going to paint it. I don't approve - I don't approve at all.
My Father is selling his Austin Healey, and it’s a little strange to really come to grips with that. He’s owned the car for some 33+ years, and I grew up with it’s engine sounds. There are a lot of good memories in that car – I had hoped to learn to drive it before the end of high school, and perhaps go to prom in it. At the time I hadn’t learned the beauty of big boots, and was literally too short to drive it. I went and took a spin in it the other day – had a great time, though it was like learning to drive all over again. Driving an antique British sports car just isn’t much like driving a Saturn. So strange to feel the car respond to MY touch, and make the noises that I associated with Sunday drives with my Dad. Very strange to think that this is car is leaving my Life. The new owner’s going to paint it. I don’t approve – I don’t approve at all.

I don’t care WHAT Heather says – I’m exhausted. Tonight we played the Thai Gour Cafe for the first time in months, and played the past we’ve played in a long, long time. Just, such good energy on stage – I have so much fun with my band!!!

Whee! Anywho – we’re playing Takoma Park tomorrow morning, which means we’ve got to be out of the house by 9am…. which means waking up five hours earlier than we did today. And the gig was long and fierce – and I’m going to take a shower before bed… and collapse. In the words of C-3PO – “Oooh this oil bath is going to feel SOO good.” Except… not oil. And not a bath, really. Hrm.


Oh my God – it’s 8am. Heather’s not happy. Rowan’s not happy. I’m not happy. This is the day we really need someone driving the tourbus or something, so I can sleep in the car. My stomach is reeling from the hour, feeling a little like I’m in a rapidly decending elevator – getting worse as my body realizes I’m not ABOUT to abandon it back to unconsciousness. Oh, it’s ALL bad news.


The Takoma Park Street Festival was a lot of fun – I’m beginning to grow a little more confident in big crowd situations, where I see that people are coming from the periphery to see what the commotion is about. The double djembe thing that Rowan and Heather do is far more effective at getting attention than maybe even Heather going topless.

Anywho – great gig, gonna be on tv. Gonna get the DVD. Gonna be a big star… off to the next gig.

It’s such a beautiful day – it’s a shame about the greyness of yesterday, the New Deal Cafe Autumn Harvest Festival got greyed out – rather stupidly I felt. I don’t think Richard (McMullin) even did it voluntarily: apparently a lot the day’s artists had called him worried about the weather and cancelled on him. Pansies.


Such amazing light – the intensity of oranges and reds bright enough for even ME to see. The birds have been criss-crossing the sky with crazed migrations, and we’ve seen butterflies flitting and my parents caught a skink. I’m exhausted, ready for the drive and finally the couch collapse. A little rob oozing into the couch crevices. Yes – complete and flaccid relaxation. If I was saying this on stage, it would be about now that Heather would be telling me to stop talking. Sigh.

The other day I went awandering in the rain. and the interior of one of my favourite Ellicott City shops, the Forget Me Not Factory. Lovely place - and full of Christmas decorations. I'm eager for the lights and the snow and yes, the songs.
The other day I went awandering in the rain. and the interior of one of my favourite Ellicott City shops, the Forget Me Not Factory. Lovely place – and full of Christmas decorations. I’m eager for the lights and the snow and yes, the songs.
Above, a cat near Amy’s house…

The Takoma Park show was excellent – it made us feel like a big band, dragging heads around, and amazing the soundman, as well as the local television crews. Unfortunately, exhaustion was somewhat setting in by the time we got to the crab feast. My finger tips feel like hamburger, and my voice is coarse and tired. We’ve never played this much in one weekend. Especially the Thai Gour show – three hour gigs can be killers. — Damn – Heather’s so hot. I don’t want to go on about this – but she’s singing along with the radio – and when she vamps it up … oh God. Laptop… hurts…

What I was SAYING, however – was that I’m really tired. And now in need of a cold shower. Sheesh. Any other train of thought – completely gone.