We played at an art school from 11:45 am to about 2:00 pm. It was a good crowd. It was in a tent and some people came and went. Una didn’t get to perform because it was a low tent. The plates go cut out because of time, also. I tried “Maybe Tonite” but my keys were sticking so I just played “Busey Boy” and “My Epilady” and gave out my e-mail address. I need to update my site and make it kick ass for the kids.
I’m in Toledo now. the home of Corporal Klinger. I just heard an Aerosmith song I’ve never heard. It’s epic and it kicks ass. I would love to do a large arena.
I wonder if I would benefit from running up a hill or garbage dump at dusk. Would I hang around? Maybe the romance of “getting home” for dinner makes it a good idea. Would I go for inspiration? Would I only receive the songs of Huey Lewis? If I did then I would hope for a meatloaf dinner and “Back to the Future” when I got home.
I brought my lunch to work today. I didn’t make it cause I didn’t have time but I bought a sandwich real cheap from the bakery by my house. I spent almost $20 for a burger lunch yesterday. That’s bullshit. I shouldn’t be eating that anyway. I did have a salad but still. And they charged for an extra coke. This is at a pub. Irish pubs in NY serve old-timey poor people food at a rich people price. I guess if you have money then you don’t mind buying an $8 BLT or a $9 salad or $13 fish and chips or a $15 corned beef and cabbage. If you want that and you’re a bit low on cash go to McSorley’s. On a weekday. Because it’s too crowded on the weekend.
We had band practice last night and I had time to kill in the city and Sammy calls “Hey, come hang out here before we practice.”
“Where?”
“The Triple Crown.”
“Wow. I just ate lunch there.”
My boss calls it Horsies.
I hadn’t hung out with my friend Janet in a while so we went to the Alligator Lounge. This place is awesome because it isn’t crowded and you get a free pizza with your beer. I’m not talking frozen bar pizza either. I’m a talkin’ about brick oven pizza. I had free pizza. The bar is a pizza party every day. I had my own pizza party. For free.
There’s another place down the street that had karaoke. And the place shouldn’t be called Sweet Ups. It should be called Good Times All Around. Except for this fellow sitting next to me.
“Excuse me, I’m European. Are all Americans this stupid?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean are they this stupid?”
Do I look French to you? Why are you asking me this?
“You mean singing karaoke and having a good time? Yeah!”
And then I turned my back on him.
I think he wanted me to punch him. Who’s stupid enough to come up with this question? “You have good time at the karaoke, erego you stoopid. Correct?” (I’m paraphrasing.)
Really, I think he wanted a fight. And I don’t think he was really European. And I think he knew I was bigger than him. So, I let him be alone. I’m not into that. I wanted him to hear my Garth Brooks song. Who’s stupid now?
I played at Magic Brian’s show the other night. It was me, Chris Rozzi, Magic Brian and Silvia Machete. I like doing this show. It’s fun and I’m with friends. I was doing a character named Dr. Wankle, a time-travel scientist, who helps the Randy Brothers find a way to go back in time. I sucked. I was ready and then when the show started it felt like someone took a spiritual shit somewhere and I was lost.
And then I played my set. I’ve gotten better at ignoring foreign sounds during shows but that night I was terrible. There was some incessant conversation going on and it was throwing me off because I always want to know what someone is saying. I forgot a whole line from a song and stopped playing to patter with the audience. And then I was thrown off by myself being thrown off.
And I couldn’t figure out where the sound was coming from. I tried being funny about it but couldn’t direct it anywhere.
I did play a new song. And it was good.
When you go to a new restaurant and the food sucks and you spend at least 10 dollars more than you should have-that’s like a bad show. “Man, I’m never going to eat fish there again. I can’t believe I spent $80 on a piece of catfish. I can’t believe I spent $40 on a gourmet hotdog that gave me the shits. Where did the money go? Now I have to buy Tums. I had one beer. I guess that was a $10 beer. I can’t sleep because my stomach hurts. And when I finally sleep I have nightmares of a routines that won’t stop.”
Bad shows are like that but are more like children.
I had a cat once that I rescued from a locked garage. His brothers died and the mother was gone. His eyes were glued shut. But the vet did a blood transfusion and the kitty was fine. But he was a little crazy because he didn’t have a mom to feed from.
Bad shows are like sick kittens. They just need a little love and a blood transfusion. And eye medicine.
I recorded yesterday with Pete and Sammy. It turned out really well. We did a new version of Junior High and 3 other songs. I’m real proud of it.
I’ll probably go back in later and add some banjo and more vocals.
I rewrote the lyrics to one of the songs yesterday morning. It’s a good feeling when they turn out well. One of the songs I wanted to record I couldn’t because I can’t get the lyrics right. But this one just came out and worked out fine.
I had general tso chicken when I got home. I go to the place across the street. I think they started putting in MSG or they started putting more MSG in their food. I got a headache before I was done eating. I got bad fish from them last time I went. They’re nice but, well, I should be eating better anyway. I got some fresh beets and collard greens last week and boiled them. It was really good.
If you see me today, I’ll have the rough mix on me if you want to hear it.
During my time in Europe with Planet Banana, I was hanging out with Clarke in his box truck/house while he was making me dinner. We had a terrible show that day at the Glastonbury Festival. Terrible show (including falling props, unattentive sound guy, and an uninvited volunteer on acid). And it would only get worse.
“But,” he interjected, “I love my life. I love playing shows. I love making dinner in my truck. I love that this is my home. I’m very happy with this.”
That’s the way it should be. And now, after playing a great show in Toronto, I’m on a train to Windsor, ON because I couldn’t find a ride to Detroit. And it’s a very nice adventure.
I love what I do. I love panicking to get a ride to Detroit. The shitty times of my life are dimming due to adventure. I love playing shows. I love knowing it’s what I do. I love talking shop to other showpeople. I love hanging out with other entertainers I’ve looked up to. I love that what I do is slotted in so many different arenas: comedy shows, rock clubs, circus tents, puppet stages, festival stages, the street, horse racing parks, arenas, living rooms, backyards, the bedroom, the office, television, sideshows . . .
I love that I can get away with this.
I’ve got it good today.
Why I enjoyed the Empty Bottle:
-South Park pinball
-I tried out Golf Tee and liked it
-took pictures with perfect strangers in the photobooth
-got a “good job” pat on the back while in position to pee in the comode
-a guy blacked-out during my set (I gave him a cd)
-Tim cried during my set and said quietly at the end, “That’s my Jigger.”
(Jigger is his dad’s best friend’s name that’s become mine. The real Jigger named his son, Chevas. Drink-themed names are fantastic.)
-the staff were real nice.
-Staff member, Robert’s moustache
I left my lady and my friends in Hersey to come to Toronto on my own. I was worried about my friends and the merchandise and the fees to get them in so I felt it would be easier for them and me if I came alone.
I got a 9:15 Greyhound and had my own seat. I tried reading but I kept falling asleep. I got company in Syracuse.
We got off the bus at the border around 6:30 and I got to see Niagara Falls for the first time. The sunrise came through the mist and turned it pink. It was beautiful. There was this old Klaus Kinski-type guy who pointed it out to me. I got through customs easier than I thought. I paid my worker’s permit and got back on the bus.
Some older idiot from Missouri came up to his buddy who was waiting to have his bags checked by the customs agents said,
“They not the chosen few.”
Dumbass.
I got to Toronto easily, put my accordion in a locker and treated myself to a breakfast burrito from McDonalds. Dumbass.
