October 17, 2005

11:10 p.m.

It Never Rains But...

Friday morning, 12:10am

At the band's house. We just watched My Brilliant Career, a lovely movie. I laughed throughout at everyone's constant references to the ingenue as being "ugly," and wondered of just what their standards of beauty consisted.

It was a day in which I received another chance at the lesson I don't seem to be learning very well. This is that things often really turn out perfectly well in the end, perfectly well, yet throughout the unfolding I see only hardship, inconvenience, and an inevitable falling apart of all my efforts. I could have done exactly the same things today without the cursing and sweat, and fear of being late, and road rage, with the same perfect outcome, and saved myself a lot of grief. But I wasn't able to look at it that way at the time. When this happens I feel like the most paltry human being; my band sees the worst of me, I have no dignity, and I don't like myself at all. I see myself blaming everyone and everything else for a bad situation, when the observer in me (very faint, sitting up in the second balcony) knows I'm choosing my reaction from among other, more positive options. Yet I'm so deep into it that I can't seem to change my behavior. I'm as unevolved as a slug.

Actually, I imagine slugs don't even get mad.

The good thing about the snit was, going through it allowed me to make a hundred bucks today.

********

More tooth pain, blah blah blah.

********

Our radio gig today was very interesting. Aside from the usual contortions needed to play and sing into the same microphone (too low to sing into, too high to play into), we enjoyed being on talk radio. Everything is segmented to the minute, so we played a song directly after the news, then the host said, "And that was xxx xxx, who are in the studio with us today; we'll hear more from them later. Meanwhile, here's the mayor!" and the mayor was on the phone with him. We played something else after his phone call, plugged the gigs, then there was the weather and a couple of commercials, and we went out with a third song and about five sentences of chat. Boom! We were outa there.

I hope it helped.

********

Afterwards we were starving, having all missed lunch. We made an earlyish dinner, turkey burgers without buns, but with cheddar and caramelized onions and local tomatoes; a sort of sautee of the last of the local corn, and hunks of cauliflower. Carol avoids ketchup; it makes her shudder. I used it in abundance.

Then we practiced a little and Carol made a few business calls. Chris played me a bass part he's made up for one of the new songs, and we talked about how to shape it. Then we looked at some absolutely hysterical photos someone sent us from the last house concert we did. I have a knack for closing my eyes EVERY time someone tries to take a shot of us during performance, and someone was really flash happy that night. However, she didn't send us any of those. Instead she sent some really embarrassing, I mean just horrible, pics of Carol, one of which made her look about 80 years old and like she hadn't eaten since 1972. We laughed until we split. Then there was one of the three of us that looked like someone had just farted. My eyes were rolling back into my head, and Chris looked like he was already fainting. The only one unaffected was Carol, and she had her BACK to us..... hm....

Great fun.

After dinner I called our friends in Texas, and we chatted a long time with them; then I left Dar a message, and then called Steve. By then it was time to watch the movie.

I've been very good since I got home. No desserts except for one graham cracker (how can anyone eat ONE graham cracker???? I break them into quarters, stack them, and dip them in soymilk until they're GONE), and another time, my favorite sugar free fat free ice cream. And I switched from my morning coffee, which requires about a cup of soymilk because that's the way I am, to tea, which requires a lot less. And avoiding butter and all that. I don't feel completely in the swing of it yet, but by next week it should feel rote enough.

I just want all my gig pants to fit again.

********

I wonder what dreams will come tonight. I want a big angel to come and tell me everything is all right, all the time, no matter what it looks like.

********

Back home now, Monday the 17th, evening

Good lord, what a weekend. Our Friday gig was lovely, albeit sparsely attended as usual. We�ve played at this venue a couple of times before, and no amount of effort on all our parts seems to make more people come out. Those that do are gushy and overwhelmed, and the rest of the world is oblivious.

But the real fun didn�t begin until we got almost home. I was planning to stay at C&C�s house, as we had to leave earlyish Saturday for the wedding in Northampton. We got to their street a little after midnight, only to find that half the block was flooded.

This happened once before, in the Spring, and there was a pond in the front and backyards, but nothing right near the house. This time it was crotch deep in the driveway and the water was just kissing the garage door. And it was still raining.

We parked a couple of houses away and they rolled up their pants, put on their sandals and waded in. I stayed in my car, on the walkie talkie, while they assessed. The house was still dry, but it was determined that Carol and I should go to a hotel for the night, and we�d somehow meet up in the morning with Chris, who would stay at the house and move important things out of the basement... like the recording studio.

This all took a while to organize, and in the end Carol brought out my toiletry bag, and I asked her to just grab a new pair of undies from my suitcase in the spare room. I said I�d wear the same gig clothes to the wedding. Windblown and soggy, we then made our way to a local Mariott, where we spent an outrageous $100 on a hotel room. We checked in and had some trouble getting the room door open, and it took the guy at the desk a while to help us. Finally we got into the room, and I took a shower, only to find that the underwear Carol had brought were the ones I wore the day before. As if that wasn�t bad enough, the present day�s underwear, having been part of a very cheap multi-pack bought at a very cheap store, had completely ripped in the crotch during the day. So I had today�s dirty, ripped underwear or yesterday�s, simply dirty, underwear, to choose from. I showered and put on my jammies, sans bloomers.

It was all too short a night; Chris called at 8:00 to say the water had receded. Carol dressed quickly and went to pick him up; I got up a few minutes later, gathered my things, and was ready to go a little after nine... in my ripped unmentionables. I�d asked Carol to bring me some CLEAN undies and I�d change just before we left... but, you know, we�re always a little behind schedule, and by the time they got there and we connected, it was really time to go. There were a few VERY TENSE, SNITLIKE MOMENTS between us on the phone, after which we just met at my car and they handed me a bag with an oat bar, my yogurt from the house, and a pair of you-know-whats that I would change into at a later time.

And so we set off for Northampton. It wasn�t quite raining, not very much. Things were looking a little better. Until we got on I-91 going north.

We hadn�t listened to the local news, and didn�t know that 91 was closed in the northern part of CT because of flood conditions, and again further up because of a sinkhole. To put it briefly (and I am not referring to underwear here), we were stuck helplessly in traffic for almost 2 hours. This was a distance of maybe a mile. Carol kept calling the mother of the groom to give her our progress, and it looked like we really wouldn�t make it. There certainly wouldn�t be time to set up a P.A. system.

To further complicate matters, we got separated in traffic. This is because (and I�m not being disparaging here, because Chris will be the first to tell you this) Chris is the asshole you see driving fast down the breakdown lane, passing everyone else who is stuck. I would have tried to follow him except for the 18-wheeler whose driver decided to drive halfway in the breakdown lane so no one else would pull such a terrible, undemocratic stunt. So there I remained for another twenty minutes or so.

Finally all three lanes were funnelled into one, and directed off the exit, and we�d come up with an alternate plan where we drove back south on 91 to another road that would take us back north on yet another road that parallelled the highway. Somewhere along this road I had to pee and get some gas, so I took the opportunity to change into my clean knickers and tossed the cheap, ripped ones, with glee, into the trash can in the gas station bathroom. I can only imagine what the hapless employee thought, who found them sticking out from among all the paper towels.

Our plan B worked fine, and instead of arriving an hour and a half before the wedding was to start, I arrived one hour after that time.

They'd waited for us.

I parked next to Chris's car in the other handicapped space, since there were no others, and went up to the church�s front door. It was locked.

I went around to the side and let myself in another entrance, and proceeded to walk around looking for the sanctuary. I could hear Carol singing the first song � she actually sang the first line, stopped, and started again, her voice a little shaky. I wondered if she was nervous because of the hectic trip? Not really like her. Downstairs in the kitchen I enlisted someone�s help, who took me to the door beyond which my mates were sitting.

The door was locked.

So he took me back downstairs and through the church again (and I was having a severe Spinal Tap moment here), and let me in at the back of the sanctuary, from which place I walked, with my guitar, up the side aisle while some readings or other were going on. The bride and groom were standing in front of the pulpit, gazing fondly into one another�s eyes. All their relatives were leaning forward in their pews, enrapt. I snuck behind the piano and sat next to my cohorts.

So far so good. We followed the order of service, popped up for our other three songs, and then it was over. Since there was no sound system, I doubt very many people actually heard our voices singing words... but I suppose no one cared.

When it was done, Chris told me that, just before the first number, which has Carol singing alone at the piano, he ran behind the pulpit and plugged in the one available microphone; and, since there was no stand, he hurried back and reached over to hold it in front of Carol�s face as she sang. But his arm brushed the lid to the piano keys, and it fell over bonk! onto her hands. That was why she started over, and the quaver in her voice was just her trying not to laugh.

We got out of Northampton about an hour and a half later than we�d planned, and stopped to pick up some lunch at Boston Market on the way home. The house was approachable, though the street was covered in a thin layer of mud. We went in, regrouped, and had time for about a half hour of napping before having to load out again for the evening�s concert.

I was SO sound asleep by then that they had to knock repeatedly on the bedroom door, and call out to me loudly before I came to. I had no idea where I was.

So we got to the Nature Center, and this was a fun gig. It�s really local, so Rose and Mike came, and a few other friends. The promoter there is someone we�ve known for many years, and in fact we�d all played the room in various incarnations (solo and previous bands), but it�s taken us over four years to get this band in. We can�t imagine why... but said promoter, whose name here shall be Stu, is such an odd duck. He�s very nice actually, and very professional, and once you�re there he treats you like a star. But he has this one quirk, that every single thing he says has to reveal some place he�s played or some big name he�s played with. Every. Single. Thing. �Well, when I played Newport, the year Dylan went electric...� �When I played with Ramblin� Jack Elliot back in...� �Oh, the Buttonwood; I�ve played the Buttonwood. I�m respected there...� And he�s very, very serious. And it happened all night, again. I went up a few minutes before we started, to check my tuning, and he stopped the CD so I could hear myself. When I was done he started it up again, and it was only then I realized he�d turned it off. I thanked him (because honestly, it was a grand thing to do, because sometimes it�s impossible to hear) and he said, �Oh, I know how it is! There�s nothing like playing the Iron Horse and trying to tune downstairs while someone is doing something upstairs!� A bit later I was whispering this anecdote to my mates, and meanwhile we could hear him across the room telling someone else about the Newport gig, when Dylan went... etc.

So the room filled up, and then it was packed, and they brought out a few more chairs. We played well, we were funny, we rocked. Chris had bought a bunch of little, plastic tropical frogs from the gift shop and every so often would toss one out into the audience. We told the story of our weekend, to great laughs and applause. Stu was impressed. Some day he�ll tell people how he played Newport with our band, eh?

And then Sunday came.

Once again we got up earlyish � I�d gone home the night before, and was glad glad glad to sleep in my own bed � and I met them at the church just north of Worcester. We played a few songs for some very old folks at coffee hour, after the service. Usually we play during the service, something that goes along with the day�s lesson, and that draws more people into the evening concert. But this time there was a couple renewing their wedding vows, which took all the available extra time. So there we were playing in an echo-y room with people having coffee.

They were pretty attentive, though, considering, and the couple in question showed up after having some photos done. They were very old, and sweet. We did a little wedding song for them (the one during which Carol had had the impromptu manicure the previous morning) and Doris, the woman, was dabbing at her eyes. Made me kinda verklempt too.

Then we loaded in and set up our P.A. in the sanctuary for later. Our promoter (whose partner, incidentally, is going to be directing Dar in A Christmas Carol this year) then took us to a local cable tv station to do an interview segment for a little promo film he�s making about the concert series. It was actually great fun. After that we were starved, so went to a place to take out salads etc. and he then took us to someone�s house where we could rest for the afternoon.

Except it was freezing in the house and no one could figure out how to turn on the heat.

This was a huge, huge, Victorian mansion that these people were renovating. Even in its state of disrepair it was gorgeous. The owners were at work so we had the place to ourselves. We ate lunch while our friend ran out to get us space heaters and blankets, and then we curled up as well as we could on couches, proceeding to not sleep at all for the next hour and a half.

Grgh. We were pretty bleary (and chilled), but we got ourselves together and went back to the church to sound check. Then Dar showed up (a very rare occurrence!) and took us out to a lovely dinner.

I don�t really want to write in detail about the rest of the night, except to say it was the worst gig we�ve EVER played. Probably most of the audience didn�t notice, but we were all over the place � had to actually begin two songs over again because of forgetting lyrics, and Chris, who is an incredible player, SO sucked on a bass part he hadn�t played in a while that he just stopped playing. There were all sorts of mitigating factors for these errors, which we identified later, but the damage was done. I was just so embarrassed and disappointed, because every time we play in front of Dar it�s in an area where we don�t draw; the cameras threw me (they were filming the gig for this promo thing too), my guitar felt very alien because we�d lowered the action too much and I couldn�t find my way around the neck; the audience were mostly older folks and they were so quiet I couldn�t gauge whether they were liking us or not; and the church was so live that our words were lost in the rafters.

I kept thinking about that slogan, �Take Back the Night,� and wishing I could do just that.

Our promoter and his partner, however, were thrilled that we were there, and it was the very first concert of the series, after all, so everyone hopes that by next year, when we return, the audience will have grown (and we secretly hope we won�t suck). The partner was helping us pack up or something, and Chris said he could be in the band. Partner replied that then we could call ourselves �Mad Hag-ness,� which we thought was splendid.

That�s my weekend story. The Monday story is that today I got up and went in for a root canal, or the beginning of one. Apparently my roots are deep and narrow, and devilishly hard to get into. He�ll finish the cleaning out process on Wednesday, and then I�ll go back in a week for the last bits... and then the crown in November. Didn�t hurt much; mostly not at all. He told me to just take Motrin and gave me some in the office, but then I called Rose and said, shouldn�t I have something in case it�s really aching at night? So she prescribed me a few Vicodin JUST IN CASE. I love having an N.P. for a sister.

And I might take one tonight, because hm, I feel a little twingy.