News and Special Feelings!

This is the third installment of my European Tour Diary.

May 2, 2008

We woke up early, thinking we'd get a jump on the day. We had a long drive to Darmstadt ahead of us and were due to arrive in the afternoon so we'd be ready to play on a radio show that started at 6.

But this was not to be. The Parisian gods intervened in their tricky way and had our car towed during the night. The Dans had gone ahead to load our first batch of luggage (they were always doing that kind of wonderful stuff) and found that the large yellow X that Arnaud had assured us was nothing to worry about was, in fact, "une problemme".

The car was gone. Merde.


Luckily, Arnaud and the Dans were able to track it down to a tow yard that wasn't too far away. They went off to retrieve it. But what were Andrew, Julie and I to do with a free sunshiney morning in Paris? Off to Sacre Coeur!

We bought some pastries, took in the views and then shuffled into the cathedral with the other tourists.

We were just about to flip out from all the pushing and illegal-photo-taking when Julie found us a bench to flop on. The minute we sat down a whole superfluity of nuns marched in for a nice, old-fashioned chanting concert. We all felt that we'd landed in a pot of particularly tasty French jam.

This mood lasted for an hour or so. But just as our spirits lagged, here came the Dans, Arnaud and our beautiful car! We were 137 Euros poorer but wiser.

Dany put the pedal to the metal and we blasted out of Paris and off to Darmstadt!

It was a long drive. Almost 7 hours. The time pretty much flew by, though, so intent were we on our goal. If it had been any other show, we could have been late. But this was our one scheduled radio appearance.

Just as we rolled into town "We Are The Champions" came on the radio and we sang it triumphantly as we pulled up to the radio station only 20 minutes late. The DJ had been stalling, playing old recordings etc. Someone had to get up there so I leapt infront of the mic and started my set. I don't even remember how it went. I think it rocked. I remember drinking a giant beer.

Peter (our friend from Berlin) had set up the show and he was there to meet us. Here are the things Peter likes:
1) Bauhaus architecture
2) nude bathing
3) redistributing the means of production amongst the larger community

He is an excellent specimen of Germanitude and though he comes off like an especially vigalent Stassi agent, with a little teasing he will giggle like a schoolgirl. An excellent host, he had prepared a huge spread of bread, cheese and pickles with little American flags stuck in them (lord knows where he got those).

We were all a little loopy after the show and this led to doing both the chicken dance and the hokey pokey outside the station. One stranger told us that he thought our dance was very moving and that we'd made him feel like he might be happy again some day in the future. Now, THAT is a fan. A crazy, crazy fan.

Peter had arranged for us to spend the night at the Socialist Youth Center on the outskirts of town. It had the feel of a summercamp rec. building- a little musty and chilly but full of boardgames, flags and (after we arrived) beer. We sat up for a long time with Peter and his surly, socialist pals. They explained why they were in favor of the Iraq war and disapproved of the Dali Lama. Eventually, we passed out.

May 3, 2008

Early in the morning, these seemingly grumpy gusses woke us up by running around the cabin, hooting like ghosts and banging on the walls. We were very scared (though maybe in a different way than they intended.)

Everyone sat around for a lazy breakfast in the backyard.

Lis had come to meet us and she now was campaigning hard to be allowed to travel with us to Castrop for our next show. She cited her impressive smallness and her eagerness to not visit a palace with Peter, claiming that she didn't like palaces- only castles. We couldn't put her in the car but Julie and the Dans drove her to the train station to see if she could get there that way. Andrew, Peter and I tried to squeeze in a quick game of Enchanted Forrest.


The train mission was a failure and Lis had to resign herself to meeting us in Cologne. But we were off to parts unknown: The Wilds of Castrop!

This is the second installment of my European Tour Diary. It only concerns one day. If you want to know what happened before this, read the previous entry. Or you can read this part first and then pretend you have a time machine and journey to the past.

5/1/8

MAY DAY! MAY DAY! We're going to Paris!

We start this day of labor in a pretty laborious manner. It's work to pry ourselves away from Piwi's happy home in Frankfurt and it's work to get out of town when the state is busy being smashed. Luckily, we are headed off on the prettiest drive in the world. People who care about Germany are always going on about the Rhineland and what a big frickin' joy it is to behold. Now I know why. Rolling hills, quaint villages with all the trimmings.

Our spirits were quite high even when we crossed into France and were confronted with a series of toll roads. Champagne country. I felt bubbly.

I'd never driven into Paris and was interested to note how the outskirts are as un-charming as any other city's. Julie was on the verge of declaring the place a shithole. But then we got into the city proper and everyone shut up.

Paris is a nice-looking town. I don't care what you say.

As we pulled into the neighborhood of our venue (Le Zebra), Andrew declared that he had to pee. So he leaped out of the car and said he would meet us at Le Zebra, which was supposedly just down the street.

But we didn't foresee the charming French custom of having an intersecting "Rue" named the same as a "Boulevard". Of course, Zebra was on the Boulevard, not the Rue. How was he going to find us? I volunteer to troll the rue looking ostensibly for Andrew but actually for a tarte citron. I found only the latter. I also found the doorway where Edith Piaf was first discovered singing for change. Not bad for my first stroll. (Andrew was later found, like all good things, by the Dans).


The Dans had parked in front of a most delightful bistro and we figured we'd better French it up right away.

I got to translate. That always feels good. We had the choice of cous-cous or duck with noodles. Everyone got duck- even Andrew who declared himself on "meat holiday". Red wine. Mmm.

We loaded our stuff into the basement. Andrew and I went on a little walk and talked about Camus.

The club was a tad douchey. Only 3 drink tickets per person- WHAT??? and the ska band that played first seemed non-plussed by our style. But a couple frans (friend/fans) showed up. Andrew was hoping that Belowski (his nutty British poet buddy) would appear but we were content with our interweb pals.

People talked a lot through the show. Even people who claimed to love it and bought CDs. I guess those French are just chatterbugs.

After the show, we drove to Arnaud's place which was right in the heart of Montmartre, just down the hill from Sacre Coeur. Tres romantic. (Arnaud was the lovely French boy who put the show together at the last minute.) We parked on top of a big yellow X but he assured us it would be "non problemme".

Up in his picturesque apartment, Arnaud made us spaghetti with pesto and then he and I went on a wine run. He told me stories of the neighborhood and hooligans and why he disapproves of prostitution. Tres charmant.

This is my tour diary for the 2008 "Ees Niice" Tour featuring Ching Chong Song and Creaky Boards.

Of course, it would have been nice to update this little journal every day as I went along. But I was too busy having fun for that kind of nonsense. So we're just going to pretend that this is the way it was supposed to be.

4/24/8
I arrive in Berlin in the morning and find my way to Heiko's no problem. (Heiko is my most excellent chum in Berlin- a handsome young social worker who alternates between angry tiger and thoughtful kitten, depending on his mood).

I never sleep on planes but I was invigorated by being in my second-favorite city on such a perfect spring day. So rather than take a nap, Heiko and I went to meet Julie and her friend Lis in the park. (Julie is, of course, a member of Ching Chong Song and the most audaciously loving gal I know. Lis- I learned- is a tiny accordion-player from Florida.)

It was a glorious afternoon. We sang Ah-Ha and Johnny Nash covers under pink-blossomed trees. Heiko had to go to work but was soon replaced by Heiko2- a blonder, quieter version that Lis practiced dancing with. And why did they practice?
Because tonight was SWING NIGHT! Oh, it was so fun. Julie dressed me up in her tiniest skirt and we all sped off to a big, old German dance hall where they had "Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen" on a constant rotation. We were 3 girls and 1 boy so I pulled out my old high school moves and led the spare lady around the floor. A couple German dudes tried to pick up Lis and me by telling us that we were the worst dancers on the floor. I informed them that we were, in fact, awesome. And furthermore, I hadn't seen them dancing. They said that they only came to meet girls. Ah, that German charm.


4/25/8
I spent the night at Lis's and awoke to the sound of the Dans arriving. "The Dans" consisted of Dan Gower (pianist/singer/manly-cherub-of-joy for Ching Chong Song) and his boyfriend Dany (Lithuanian Jew from Venezuela/hot-shot financier-turned-tour manager and saint). They were so tan and full of fun. I was so happy to see them but I had to go pick up my cds at my old apartment in Kreuzberg. So I left.

That night was the first official night of the tour. We had a show at a place called "Speakeasy" somewhere in Mitte. I got there early, had a beer and went out for Chinese with James (my friend's Aussie then-boyfriend) and his band (who were also on the bill).

The show was rollicking; Lis's Mexican lover arrived from Paris; The bar owner was Irish and slipped me expensive whiskey; the tour was off to a booming start.


4/26/8
Woke up early and zoomed out to the airport to meet up with Dan, Dany and Julie. We took possession of our car. A Mercedes Benz station wagon. Pretty sweet. We had to pay more for insurance than we had anticipated, but what can one do?

Seven hour drive to Rotterdam. Ouch. But our spirits were high and we were excited to start the adventure (and to eat the first of many Burger King Kids Meals).

We arrive around 5 and find that our host is Dennis: a Dutchman of the cute, giggly and blond variety. A fella named Maurice is also there as liaisons for the "Live In Your Livingroom" Organization that sponsored the event. He's a towering hulk of a man in a sport jacket- slightly Frankenstein-ish (if Frankenstein had been really chill and liked indie-rock. Which he probably world have.)

The others went to pick up Andrew at the train station while I went for a stroll around the 'hood. Just lovely. Saw some ducks, saw some houseboats. Nether-rific.

Andrew showed up a little spaced from his day in Amsterdam, but still ready to party. (Andrew is the man behind "Creaky Boards". On this tour, he was trying out a solo project that involved him, some computer beats and a glockenspiel. As the ingenue of the tour, Andrew was impressively willing to have a really good time.)

The show was excellent. A tiny room, but full of nice folks. I set a record for my CD sales that I didn't meet again the rest of the tour.



But the real fun started after the show. We were all pretty drunk and giddy. Dennis and I were sitting on his eensie balcony when a man in a sombrero came stumbling out of a bar across the street. He was singing a lusty Dutch folk song into a microphone. He disappeared back into the bar. Dennis didn't even have to ask.

We ran down the stairs, across the street and into this odd little pub. Dennis bought me a beer and we danced around while the singing man changed from the sombrero into a captains hat. I guess it was some kind of regular thing. The people in the bar didn't seem all that amazed. But I thought it was spectacular.

Not wanting to hog the fun, we ran up and got the others and then everyone danced. That is, until Andrew (in a mushroom-induced bit of poor judgement) requested YMCA. The mood changed. It now sucked. We all trudged back to Dennis's, where the party was in full swing.

We were supposed to all crash at Dennis's place. But Julie had wisely befriended a young lady-scientist named Maardje and had secured the two of us real beds at her place.

When we arrived at her lovely home, Julie and I were suddenly a bit curious about Maardje's intentions; She immediately turned on the stereo and played what can only be described as "lesbian fuck music". Julie and I eyed eachother nervously. But it turns out she just loved us for our minds! And we loved her for hers. She draws Julie a tub and I get into a clean and comfy bed.

4/27/8
We awaken like little princesses. Maardje makes us eggs and bacon with coffee and 5 kinds of juice. We all hang out in Maardje's bathroom and give each other facials.

Somehow, the boys don't look quite as glowing when we find them hunched over coffee at Dennis's now-trashed apartment. But they're doing pretty well, considering.

We set off on a short and easy drive to Brussels. Arriving in the afternoon, we find ourselves at L’ecurie: a large art-squat on the outskirts of town. It's surrounded by circus wagons. There was some crazy installation upstairs with levers to pull and buttons to push. Sarcastic Frenchmen guarded the door.

The boys and I go off for a walk. We find a big ole church and some frites and then just lie on the grass in a little park. We talk about the jobs we've had. Birds twitter. Belgians frolic. We look around at each other with "can-you-believe-this-is-real?" faces.

We returned to the squat and ate a beautiful meal of leeks, quiche, potatoes and other vegetarian fare. A culinary highlight- especially eating in the rustic courtyard surrounded by lilacs and acrobats.

The show was good. It didn't feel super full, but then, it was a pretty massive room. I think it was okay. I had fun drinking Chimay and speaking French to a couple of patient young men at the bar. Everyone was really cool. Especially our host: David.

David (pronounced the French way, of course) looked exactly like Kevin Klein cross-bred to a lion. We were staying at his house while he stayed somewhere else. We found the apartment with our GPS but once we had driven around to find a parking space, we realized we had no idea where the street was. I had to break out my lousy French to ask some waitress in a window for directions.

The apartment was lovely. Ground floor. Pink walls. Little garden in the back. (A better version of mine back home!) Andrew swore he felt itching on his scalp. I told him he was nuts and fell asleep on David's daughter's loft-bed/slide.

4/28/8
In the morning, David showed up with bread and cheese. We drank coffee from tiny glasses. Julie noticed that, in fact, there were massive amounts of lice medication in the bathroom. We all started itching immediately. We almost re-named it the "Ees Lice" tour. But it turned out to be a false alarm. Praise God.

We drove off to Wuppertal, which had been described as a "shit town". It looked pretty delightful to me. Kinda serious in its architecture. But attractive. A few years ago, an elephant had fallen into the river from Wuppertal's famous suspended train car. That made it worth visiting in my book.

The venue ("Beatz und Keske") was a very 70's-Brady Bunch-style cafe and the owners were really nice. Warm cheese sandwiches all around (I scraped off the mayo). I took a walk around the town, listened to some Don Lennon on my ipod and bought a brassiere at a department store. I felt very pleased with myself.

The shows went well. Teens in the back, older guys in the front. As it should be. We sat around drinking gin-and-tonics afterwards and contemplated sleeping on the couches in this smokey room. It was not that horrible a prospect.

Luckily, though, while the others went out for doner-kebab, I stayed and chatted with a nice young drummer named Bernt. Bernt said we were welcome to stay with him and everyone agreed this sounded much better.

We sat around his kitchen table playing a rule-based drinking game called "Shoulders". I can't remember half of the rules we came up with --but I do remember that Bernt made us pick up an imaginary phone and greet Hitler. You gotta love a German who can joke about Hitler. It usually bespeaks an elevated mind.

4/29/8
Coffee and cigarettes and bread and cheese in the morning... (and every morning. forever.) We said a fond farewell to Bernt and took a stroll around the city. Julie and I ducked into a sex-shop looking for a present for Lis and her Mexican lover. Nothing seemed romantic enough. Andrew successfully returned a power-converter.

This was our day off. I had fucked up and forgotten to alert Piwi (our man in Frankfurt) that we would be arriving a day early. But we were able to get in touch with him and he said (in his sweet, Piwi way) that of course we were welcome to just show up. Which we did.

Piwi lives in the old town part of Frankfurt. I had met him two years ago when he came all the way to see me in Hannover. An illustrator (and a very good sport), he had hosted the mad Evershaggin' Tour of 2007, taken us on an all-day tour of downtown and told us we could come back any time.

This time, we were all pretty beat from our competition the night before and I'm afraid we weren't very entertaining guests. But Piwi and I sat around his kitchen table with his new roommate (named BooHoo) and talked about the less-romantic aspects of an artist's life. I think we bummed each other out a little. Time to drink some beer.

4/30/8
I was already worrying about running out of CDs, so in the morning Piwi took me to a photocopy shop to make some copies of my cover art. It was such a pretty day in Frankfurt and we probably should have stayed outside, but the pull of comfy mattresses and comic books was too strong.

I read something called "Blankets" that Andrew recommended. Pretty good, I thought (though I'm always suspicious when the artist draws himself really handsome.)

We finally rallied the troops to go on a walk around the old town. It was pretty darn medieval. We stopped at a little outdoor spot and Piwi treated us to a round of apfelwein and potatoes with green sauce. Delicious. (Andrew is working on the recipe even as I write this.)

Back at home, BooHoo was hard at work on a BBQ in the back alley. Julie and I entertained him with cover songs while he cooked us tasty, big wursts. We loved the shuffling, sad-eyed BooHoo (and were delighted, later, to find that we loved his music too!)

Soundcheck was a little delayed so Julie, Andrew and I went for a tiny stroll. We found a wooden alligator for them to hump (always something to do in Frankfurt). Getting back, I sat outside and chatted with Dan until a little voice from behind me asked if he could join our conversation. This was Sam, who would prove to be a continuing character in our tour. The 21-year-old son of an Aussie dancer and a German choreographer, Sam was already a dad himself. But he still had the bearing of a smart-aleck freshman hanging out with the seniors. We liked him right away.

The show at Cafe Andrea Doria was packed- (not too hard to do in a tiny restaurant, but it felt good anyway.) Piwi seemed pleased and I was happy that we'd done him proud after all his work and kindness. We all headed off to another bar nearby where we were promised free drinks. What a town!

They were playing some pretty good soul in the back so you know that we were going to get our dance on. And so we did. Some crazy lady took my Creaky Boards pin. It made her so happy. Piwi twisted. Andrew thrusted. I don't know what I did, but I'm sure it looked great.

Stay tuned for the next installment...

Labels: Ching chong song, creaky boards, europe, tour

Here are a couple things I have written about being here:
#1 (from the OJ board)
I am here!

I made it to Berlin with German precision. My flight arrived right on time, nobody at customs gave a good goddamn about me and Heiko and Christine picked me up, whisking me off to their happy home for a day of "Lost"-watching, lemon beer and gossip.

Then, yesterday, I moved into my new digs. Sibsi's place is just as homey and bright as I remembered it. The new additions to the home were a trio of guys from Oslo who are staying in the other bedroom. I was a little scared of them at first (they are, of course, about 9 feet tall with those Nordic cheekbones you can cut cheese with- except the Irish one who is also very tall but looks a bit like Jerry Seinfeld.)

But after drinking about 40 afternoon beers together, they seemed much less intimidating.

The big adventure of last night was when, as I was locking the door behind us on our way out for the evening, the key to the apartment just split in two. It was pretty shocking. I didn't know my own strength I guess. All that yoga must be paying off.

So we had to get a locksmith to come and get us back in (to the tune of about a hundred euros- not quite how I wanted to spend my money, but what can you do?)

Anyway, we were able to drown our sorrows pretty successfully. I stumbled home early, still couldn't get the lock to work, passed out in the hallway for about twenty minutes, then got up and somehow got the door open.

Today I slept.

Now I am going to meet Heiko for some dinner and then it's off to Hotelbar (now called MonkeyKlub) to rock the goddamn paint off the walls.

Tomorrow the transit strike begins. Guess I'll get to know Kreuzberg really well.

#2 (from a letter to my family)

Here I am in Berlin. I have had so much stuff going on that I feel a little strange even putting together a highlight reel but I want to give it a shot- for my own sake as much as anything. I'm afraid I'm forgetting things even moments after they happen.
So here is a brief run-down of my decadent ways:

I got here about two weeks ago amid the excitement of a full-blown transit strike. There are still trains running but only on certain lines. It was supposed to be only for 10 days, but the deadline has passed and now the transit workers say they will keep it up until Easter. This is pretty inconvenient but somehow it's been more or less okay. It certainly gets me walking. My apartment is in Kreuzberg, which was officially part of West Berlin, but due to some wonky wall-building is actually located to the East. The nearest train station is about the distance from 3rd street to Union Square. Not impossible, but a slight pain in the ass.

The apartment itself is very nice. A little filthy but it has wonderful high ceilings (like every single building here seems to) and gets lots of sun. Plus, the original occupant has one of the most amazing music collections around so I am having a good time listening to all those seminal indie bands that I have always had to pretend to know about.

I've played four shows so far (which is pretty good for 2 weeks) and I have 2 more before I leave. Two of them were at this same club where I have played before called Schokoladen. It's run by a very nice American lady who lives upstairs in a big old-fashioned squat-style place with her 7-year-old son named Elvis and her German boyfriend who is a brain specialist and wears highly avant-guard glasses. It's a life I dream of.

One show was in a very swanky basement bar in the center of town. There was some French band also on the bill and I had to yell at them for clapping a-rhythmically through my set. They claimed they were really into it and just had bad rhythm, but I have a feeling they were just jerks.

The other show was in the kind of club I always dreamed about when thinking of Berlin. It was on a completely deserted street in the old East Berlin and there was no sign and then you had to walk through 3 dark courtyards and through a crumbling stone doorway and then you get inside and it is totally packed with hip young Germans. We had a big Motown dance party after the show which was, of course, awesome.

When not playing shows, I have spent my time recovering from those nights and going to parties. Everyone here is so lovely and hospitable. I have only had one night when there wasn't something going on. It's such a international city that you are as likely to meet a nice English couple as anything else. I even met a guy who grew up in the next town over from the tiny village where I lived in Ireland all those years ago. You can imagine how stoked I was about that!

Mom came here for work last week for two days and we had fun running around. I brought her out here to my friends' neighborhood for some flea-market fun and coffee. She had never believed me when I told her that Berlin was really beautiful so it was nice to take her to some attractive spots. The next day she took me to the West part of the city (where I never had been) so I was able to see why she had been skeptical. It kinda makes me believe in communism that the parts of the city where there was a free-market economy look totally anonymous and dull. Over in the East, everything is small boutiques and cool old buildings. I mean, I know they weren't here twenty years ago, but there is something to be said for non-growth. They say it's changing, though, and I can see that too. I sure know what gentrification looks like. But there is still enough anarchy to keep it cool for the moment. But you should come soon.

I've had a couple good tour guides. One was a Scottish guy whom I had let stay in my place in NY last year. He took me on a gallery tour of Kreuzberg so that was fun. Didn't see too much great stuff but it was interesting just walking around.

Then there was this very serious, very German man, Peter, who has helped us with booking in the past. He was really so sweet and drove me around in his car for 6 hours to all the big tourist spots. But he's like a character out of a play: He would take me to a church\museum\whatever and I would say 'wow. that's lovely' and he would say 'no, it's crap. It's kitcsh. It should be more modern.' It was pretty hilarious.

Tonight I am staying at my friend Heiko's because I can't be bothered to walk for an hour to get home. Actually, I've spent so many nights here or with other friends that it almost seems silly to be paying rent. Especially now that this Norwegian guy has moved into the other room at my place. There were three Norwegians there when I first moved in and they were all really cute and fun. They left after two days.

So when I heard I was getting a new Norwegian, I was excited. But this guy seems neither cute nor fun. Plus, he seems to have spent the afternoon trimming his pubic hairs over the toilet seat. That seems like the kind of mess a gentleman would clean up, no? Anyway, I don't think he's a bad guy really. But it was nice having the place to myself. If I have to share, couldn't it be with some viking dreamboat?

Okay. That's enough for now. Sorry for the length. I hope you all are doing well. Tomorrow I am playing at a party in the North of town. Then mom comes back for two more days and we are going to do some cultural stuff. Then I will start to get sad about leaving. Overall, I have felt so good and happy here. I think this was one of the best ideas ever.

Labels: berlin, tour

I feel like I haven't played a solo show in forever. Just keeping it on the Urban Barnyard tip. But this weekend, it's all about me, me and more me.

Last night I played at this place called Sputnik. It was pretty fun to be somewhere new (especially somewhere new off the G line). These kids from the band Escalators had asked me to play. I guess one of them knew that Jason Benjamin cat who plays such sweet, sweet trumpet on my record. The Best was also playing, so I knew it would be a good time.

There was almost no one around when I first arrived. Betsy and I and her man-friend Dennis and some other pals all sat upstairs at the bar for awhile. The show ended up starting about an hour late because we wanted there to be at least as many people watching the show as were performing in it. Betsy went first and totally rocked as usual. Gotta love those ukulele sweetnesses. Dennis and I got up and sang a little "If You Want Something Done Around Here". The crowd went nuts.

By the time I got on stage there was a nice little crowd gathered. Everyone was real nice and paying attention and laughing at the right parts. You know how much I like people to laugh at the right parts. Betsy said it's best to play shows for kids who are in their very early twenties. I guess by the time they hit 24, they think they've heard enough music. That's probably true. I know I stopped listening at most shows years ago. Now I just sit and try to make eye contact with the waitress.

I snagged a ride home with Don Lennon and his delightful ladyfriend. I was sorry to miss the Escalators, and in hindsight, maybe I should have just stayed. But it's hard to pass up a free car ride. And I had some crazy dream of getting to Sidewalk in time to see Angela sing with Creaky Boards. But it was not to be.

I did make it in time to hear Soft Black. I didn't think that I was particularly boozy, but now that I'm thinking about it, I may have misbehaved a little. Is it bad that I started playing the drum that's stuck on the left wall during "The Sky is Red"? I don't know. I thought it sounded good. But then, I may have been wasted. So hard to tell these days

Labels: Betsy Cohen, Escalators, Sputnik

Yes, it's true. I am going to be spending March in Berlin. I'll be subletting my friend Sibsi's apartment in KREUZberg (I KNOW!) So if you live in the greater Berlin area and you want to have coffee with me, you'll have a whole three weeks to do so. I will have nothing but free time (what else is new?)

Check out my myspace page for show dates. So far, I have two at Schokoladen.

In other news, Ching Chong Song and I are planning our second European tour for April/May. If you'd like to help us with booking or places to stay or pony rides or bananaweissens, please let us know.

Labels: berlin, europe, tour

So I always thought the Harry Potter series kinda sucked donkey nuts. I read the first one a few years ago and was unimpressed. I didn't like having to learn all those stupid words. I know enough stupid words already. But then I got talked into reading the second one and felt about the same.

But Casey Holford (who is generally a smart and reliable source) is a fan. A big one. He's a guy who, given a small amount of prodding, would dress up like Buckbeak and wait outside Barnes and Noble on opening day. Maybe not one in New York where people might run into him. But if he was in Nebraska or something...

Anyway, he told me to give the series one more chance. And I did. And I got hooked. I still don't know if they're any good at literature. But who cares? I can't put the fuckers down. It's affecting my dreams. It's affecting my job. I keep missing cues at Avenue Q cuz I gotta find out what happened to Neville Longbottom's parents.

So I have one left to read. And then it's over. And I see that look on people's faces who are reading it on the subway (and every subway car has at least 2 people reading it). They're enjoying it but they're sad because it's almost over. I'm a little sad too. I'm sad that it's over and I'm sad that I was such a snob about them for so long and I'm sad that I will probably never actually see Casey dressed up like a flying lizzard. Life is cruel.

Having given notice at my Puppet Wrangler job, I suddenly am feeling a bit at sea. So I figure I will at least try to do things that might be helpful down the road. Like keeping track of what the hell I am doing with my time during these remaining days of my misspent youth. I can't imagine that anyone will want to read this. I know I wouldn't. But I'm writing it so I don't have to!

For instance, today I attended a Happy Birthday Dibs brunch, came to work, watched some "Evil Dead" on my computer, did the show, bought underpants, ate BBQ with the band, talked to disgrunted Starbucks employee. Now I plan to do another show and then head off to see the Elastic No-No Band at Sidewalk.

See? That wasn't so hard. Maybe I can actually keep this up a little better. Maybe I'll just stick to writing about shows I see and songs I write so I won't be too embarrassed when, inevitably, some future boss finds this. Don't want to spoil the illusion, after all.