May 19, 2006

11:20 p.m.

Life Looks Like a Phalaenopsis

Once again I shun my regular work for another half hour in favor of doing what I want to do, which is talk to you. Er, to myself. On the offchance that you want to eavesdrop.

We had a so-so tour of Virginia last weekend. The first two gigs were a little sad; or maybe it's that I was a little sad. Thursday night I hardly slept; the basement room was cold and I was on edge because we had to get up early. Friday's gig was at a library; okay, but no great shakes. Saturday was at a big, nice historical library where we've never drawn a big crowd. This time we split with someone who we thought would help bring in folks -- and we had maybe thirty people, an alltime low for us in the room. It was the first time I didn't have any fun at a gig. Sunday we drove a few more hours and played at a church, and this one was better -- somewhat modestly attended, but the crowd was sweet and I moved seven, count 'em, seven poetry books and two solo CDs, in addition to the band loot that sold. I was shocked, but my spirits were definitely lifted. We were packed up and out of the building by 7:20pm, and I knew I had a 7-1/2 hour drive ahead of me to go home. We had a place to stay, but this was such a busy week we all wanted to wake up Monday in our own beds. So we drove. My mates stopped off after an hour or two to have dinner somewhere, but I got a forgettable chicken salad sandwich (lots of pickle-y tasting celery, an abundance of some mayo-like substance that was almost whitish, and a few bits of chicken as an afterthought -- but on some really substantial homemade-looking bread) and pressed on, getting home at 2:45am. I only had to stop and rest once, about twenty minutes from home. I pulled up a side road and parked in the darkness at the entrance to the rail trail where I take my bike, and closed my eyes for 20 minutes. That was enough to get me home safely. I don't welcome that kind of fatigue any more; fortunately I don't have to drive that long very often.

News Flash! An old friend of mine from New Hampshire is in an indie film which you can now view at www.thenormanrockwellcode.com. It's about 20 minutes I believe (I haven't seen the whole thing yet) but I think the trailer was hilarious. There's a murder at the Stockbridge Museum in Massachusetts (where Norman Rockwell grew up, of course) and the curator is found dead, wearing only yellow fishing waders, and holding in one hand a can of tuna, in the other a slice of lemon. Who better to come in and unravel the mystery than the son of Barney Fife? (My friend is a wonderful impressionist, and has been doing Fife for years. His filmmaker friend was looking for a vehicle for the impersonation, and came up with this spoofadoo.)

Ha haaa! I said spoofadoo and you didn't! And more than that, I MADE IT UP!

Ahem. For those of you who are too young to know who Barney Fife is, go and google Andy of Mayberry.

In other news, Dar and I met in Worcester the other day and he took me to the Higgins Armory Museum, a trove of knights' armor and the history of steel in general. It was quite fun. We got to try on jousting helmets and I did a sort of stone rubbing with crayon. And of course we had to imagine what sorts of details would go into making mouse armor. The articulated tail, for instance. Later we went to a restaurant and he was privileged to have a rodent sighting -- small mouse scooting under a booth seat. The waitress said the building next door was being renovated and the mice were all coming over to their side. I know that should be creepy in some way, but it just isn't, okay?

And I'm on the last season of 6FUnder, and the episode I saw tonight contained "Calling All Angels" by Jane Siberry, whom, because I live in a vacuum, I have never heard before today. It completely broke me down and reassembled me, and I had to go order two of her CDs immediately. I'm really quite insulated here.

And tomorrow I have an "Oh, Susannah" gig for which I have to leave around 10am, and I've neglected several band things I should have done today, but my day and my mind are just full of things and there is only so much time, and so much room. It's only an hour's worth of singing kids' songs, and then the rest of the weekend is mine -- and most of next week. I'm sure I've left out a lot of news (like my friend Red in Texas being on the verge of self-publishing her book of life essays, and that probably she'll hire me to make them here) and the yellow-green phalaenopsis Dar gave me when we met. They'll trickle in as I think of them. Goodnight, everyone.