July 9, Part Deux
Where am I ? The place is familiar, a marble and carpeted hotel lobby, a shiny desk, and someone trying to check me in, my funny accent competing with theirs, as we both try to speak good English. She did speak it well, I was talking English wicked good, too. No more Canadian for me, and I get to use green money again, no more blue bills, or coins with some queen on them, nice dead men for me.
I run into someone I actually know, someone I haven’t seen since we were in New Jersey, or was it Pennsylvania? I forget, but since neither of us are from any of these places, or even wherever we are now, who cares. We catch up an what needs catching up, compare notes and strategize our next move.
We decide that I can do all the driving tonight, as I seemingly do not mind driving in the rain all that much. The rain has followed me, turning into a right proper nasty night. Looks cool and grey outside, but it was sloony. Sticky. Drippy. Damp. YUCK, let’s stay in, better yet, lets go out and play.
Sludging thru the damp, and driving out to another lake, surprisingly I did not see any fingers there, although the signs insisted that I was in the Finger Lake Region. I suppose if I actually got to one of these lakes, I just might give it the finger.
Two GPS to get there, as the address and the GPS location were not wuite the same, but having been there before, three years , ago, I was an expert. Greeted by name by someone with a nametag, and wearing a lanyard, it was decided that we two were way too cool for lanyards, and welcomed out of the rain, and under the shed. You would never believe what we saw. A bus full of English tourists showed up, along with a few Americans, and decided that they were NOT going to judge another wet shirt contest. Dang, and I brought my bodaciousness with me. I tucked all that away, and sat and listened to funny accents tell funny stories. Turns out that my tall skinny English friends like girls.
Good to know, might use that information someday.
A few mildly familiar faces around, but none as much as me, or my travel companion. And we , had a fabulous time, even with sticky and filmy guitars. No new surprises, same set list, but being forced to sit in the front row center, by the poor person whose kidney stone stopped them from being there, put on a good show. I sang and danced the night away. Capturing their attention, preventing them from looking at anyone but me. Really, that is why I go, to make an ass of myself night after night. Actually, I sat nicely for the sitting parts, and got higher and higher when asked. Stand out songs? Most of them.
But after the over 40C heat of the night before, I felt a distinct loss of something vital, and noticed the same up on stage. A subtle change, but there. That heat the night before was so bad, the sweat dripping so copiously, it took a bit of the life force away. Some little bit that was not restored with a few hundred mile commute, and a nice shower and nap in nice bed linens, on a good mattress. Not even the wake up scent of the nice soap could restore what was lost in Ottawa.
At least tonight, at the end of the concert, no one up on the stage looked at me and mouthed “it’s over, thank god”. Some one might have done that in Ottawa, but not here, in the Finger Lakes. I might not need to show my finger to anyone after all.
Drippy rain again, brollies up, and a skipping run to find old Sturdy Gertie. She finally was close enough to hear a concert. The Smoke machine was not in overdrive, must not have known the car was so close, they can resume their affair tomorrow, if the bus doesn’t find out.
She got us out of the lot, and back to the hotel in record time, we were first. Plenty of time to get a few drinks, relax, and
watch the other hotel guests.
There was a sea of small decorated female humans paraded about by their mothers. Many in tiaras, and wearing sashes. All with more make up and hair spray than some mutant glam rocker.
Speaking of Rockers. I have a fondness for a few out there, somewhere, and they might hear my voice?
Sleep, I hardly remember getting to my room, and getting any sleep. I have a long day ahead of me, and I Haven’t recovered from Ottawa yet. Hydration.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
july 9, part one
July 9
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Steamy and wet Ottawa
July 8
I am in Ottawa, my week as an international Rock babe superstar continues. The weather continues more than hot, really hot, really really hot. I need a ticket to the show, and a way to get to the show, so I take off out of my lovely hotel room, and walk thru the market area. It is less lively in the heat of the day, the fresh fruits and vegetables wilting in the heat. I duck into the Rideau Center to get some relief, and come across the kiosk selling day tickets, and also the OC transo center, and learn my bus route. Walkeing back, it is a 15 minute slow stroll to my hotel. I spend the rest of the mid day contemplating what to carry to the show. I had my chair, and a blanket, but decided against the rain slicker, hat and umbrella, and refillable bottle, thinking packing light was a good idea. I did not pack light, in bringing all these items all this way, but I ditched them today. Wrong decision.
So, after packing light, I take off on my stroll thru the market again. I am the only on on my bus with a chair, and I start to rethink my decision. I am left off the bus at a stop, next to a desolate open space of urban renewal, or so the sign says, but there are piles of used concrete, and weeds all around. I Walk towards the venue, and I begin to melt in the fierce sun, the air more heavy with each step, not a breath of wind, the walk was ablout a half mile, to the main gate. No one around at all. I see one lady sitting over to the side, I ask if this is the line, turns out she is a local, who attends every show every year, and prides herself on being first. I had been told at the kiosk that the doors open at 4:30, but this lady assures me that they will open at a bit after 5. It is now 3. Hot, unrelenting sun, estimated temperature 35C. I had seen the stage set up, in a familiar pattern, and then a familiar sound, albeit a bit sharp toned and lackluster, lacking vocals began. A bit odd, hearing a song called The voice, without the Voice, but he did get out a few verses, and then it was over.
We continued to wait. Finally at 5:15 we were inspected, and let in. A short jog, and I set up in front of a fence, a few feet from a 5 foot high stage. The Warm up act did a 2 hour sound check, I politely suggested to myself that no amount of sound check would improve her sound, but talent might. Finally met up with the two other of the fans there, and wandered about the grounds. Also appearing that night were Renaissanse with Annie Haslam, at the same time as the Moodies, who planned that? And then Steve Hackett, and the B52’s, cool, and the Bacon Brothers. Hot, I am hot, dirty, sticky, and there is a large looming grey cloud overheard, talking to Someone Else I ran into, who voiced concern about the Band’s electronics, I was concerned that I would be soaked thru. These things happen. The clouds opened up at 7:30, the crew and roadies covering the Farfisa, and Alan’s keyboards with large plastic sheets, I huddled under the corner of a shared slicker, and someone elses umbrella, which tipped, and soaked me a bit more, if possible. I would have done almost anything to have been wrapped in plastic and duct tape with the equipment. I think that I would only get that treatment if I were also packed into crates and trucked from show to show. Since I pack and ship myself, I was also left on my own in the rain.
The clouds parted and the Band went on at 3 minutes before 8, a rare treat, as they had to be done before 9:30, so we knew it would be both an abbreviated and non intermission show. At least me and the Band did.
The Brown Gibson came out to play tonight. I had a bit of trouble arising out of my swoopy chair, using the fence to pull myself up after each song. My sore knee also complaining. They were in good voice, and played beautifully all night, a good effort, too bad that some people do not appreciate hard work. The man behind me was having a reunion with friends, showing off pictures of his girlfriend, eliciting a few dark eyed stares from the blond fellow on the stage. It go warmer after the rain, and being soaked thru did nothing for me, in fact, I learned that my shirt was a bit, well, I made interesting undergarment choices after doing a hand wash in my room, and I am sorry, it was not planned. Et porquoi pas? I have been making a spectacle of myself for years, why not continue? The curly headed one got curlier as the night wore on, the lights on the stage were mercifully less than usual, and it was daylight for most of the show, or as much daylight one can have with rain clouds around, and even with that, there was moisture glistening on everyone on the stage, drippage in some places, I worried about them, in this heavy almost fetid air, as the rare breezes the rain brought faded.
My hair even curled, and I do not have curly hair.
The show was a bit flawed, but in a nice way, they played beautifully, but the extra twiddly bits were missing. Mister Curly and his strut over to the girls in those black Zorro Jeans, Love those, and my view, has been having a bit of trouble getting back to his Mike after the “WHOO” in Singer, leaving the blond one to solos on the next line “How can we understand?” And the best wrong lyric of the night was during NIWS, “Snazing at people” You can snaze at me anytime sweetie, I still love you.
A few winks and smiles, and a nice wave from the blond at the end, but a rushed concert, the old fellow mentioned 69, Viagra and carbon dating, no one told us it was lovely to see us and welcome, but we were told to keep smiling at the end. It was not a concert you wanted to see go on forever, people looked spent, and I can imagine what they thought of me, a glance in the mirror later scared me, who was this tangled spangled mangled and spagetti haired old lady in the stretched out shirt and wet skirt?
The heck with it.
The skipped songs?
The day never came, there was no leaning on anyone, there was no other side of life, and no drifting of anything, wood or not.
The croud was appreciative, when not takling about themselves. I think when you pay a lot of money, you behave better, a casual atmosphere encourages casual behavior.
The facility was great, they offered free water spigots to refill your bottles, to discourage disposal and waste, and all plastics sold there were corn bases, and compostable, and recycle bins were all over the place.
All in all, Jazz fest in Montreal was sleek and sophisticated, and Bluesfest in Ottawa was fun, and both were not to be missed, I will remember them, and try to get back again some day, when my time is not occupied with the demands of being an international rock chick fan for a who are they anyway?
I am in Ottawa, my week as an international Rock babe superstar continues. The weather continues more than hot, really hot, really really hot. I need a ticket to the show, and a way to get to the show, so I take off out of my lovely hotel room, and walk thru the market area. It is less lively in the heat of the day, the fresh fruits and vegetables wilting in the heat. I duck into the Rideau Center to get some relief, and come across the kiosk selling day tickets, and also the OC transo center, and learn my bus route. Walkeing back, it is a 15 minute slow stroll to my hotel. I spend the rest of the mid day contemplating what to carry to the show. I had my chair, and a blanket, but decided against the rain slicker, hat and umbrella, and refillable bottle, thinking packing light was a good idea. I did not pack light, in bringing all these items all this way, but I ditched them today. Wrong decision.
So, after packing light, I take off on my stroll thru the market again. I am the only on on my bus with a chair, and I start to rethink my decision. I am left off the bus at a stop, next to a desolate open space of urban renewal, or so the sign says, but there are piles of used concrete, and weeds all around. I Walk towards the venue, and I begin to melt in the fierce sun, the air more heavy with each step, not a breath of wind, the walk was ablout a half mile, to the main gate. No one around at all. I see one lady sitting over to the side, I ask if this is the line, turns out she is a local, who attends every show every year, and prides herself on being first. I had been told at the kiosk that the doors open at 4:30, but this lady assures me that they will open at a bit after 5. It is now 3. Hot, unrelenting sun, estimated temperature 35C. I had seen the stage set up, in a familiar pattern, and then a familiar sound, albeit a bit sharp toned and lackluster, lacking vocals began. A bit odd, hearing a song called The voice, without the Voice, but he did get out a few verses, and then it was over.
We continued to wait. Finally at 5:15 we were inspected, and let in. A short jog, and I set up in front of a fence, a few feet from a 5 foot high stage. The Warm up act did a 2 hour sound check, I politely suggested to myself that no amount of sound check would improve her sound, but talent might. Finally met up with the two other of the fans there, and wandered about the grounds. Also appearing that night were Renaissanse with Annie Haslam, at the same time as the Moodies, who planned that? And then Steve Hackett, and the B52’s, cool, and the Bacon Brothers. Hot, I am hot, dirty, sticky, and there is a large looming grey cloud overheard, talking to Someone Else I ran into, who voiced concern about the Band’s electronics, I was concerned that I would be soaked thru. These things happen. The clouds opened up at 7:30, the crew and roadies covering the Farfisa, and Alan’s keyboards with large plastic sheets, I huddled under the corner of a shared slicker, and someone elses umbrella, which tipped, and soaked me a bit more, if possible. I would have done almost anything to have been wrapped in plastic and duct tape with the equipment. I think that I would only get that treatment if I were also packed into crates and trucked from show to show. Since I pack and ship myself, I was also left on my own in the rain.
The clouds parted and the Band went on at 3 minutes before 8, a rare treat, as they had to be done before 9:30, so we knew it would be both an abbreviated and non intermission show. At least me and the Band did.
The Brown Gibson came out to play tonight. I had a bit of trouble arising out of my swoopy chair, using the fence to pull myself up after each song. My sore knee also complaining. They were in good voice, and played beautifully all night, a good effort, too bad that some people do not appreciate hard work. The man behind me was having a reunion with friends, showing off pictures of his girlfriend, eliciting a few dark eyed stares from the blond fellow on the stage. It go warmer after the rain, and being soaked thru did nothing for me, in fact, I learned that my shirt was a bit, well, I made interesting undergarment choices after doing a hand wash in my room, and I am sorry, it was not planned. Et porquoi pas? I have been making a spectacle of myself for years, why not continue? The curly headed one got curlier as the night wore on, the lights on the stage were mercifully less than usual, and it was daylight for most of the show, or as much daylight one can have with rain clouds around, and even with that, there was moisture glistening on everyone on the stage, drippage in some places, I worried about them, in this heavy almost fetid air, as the rare breezes the rain brought faded.
My hair even curled, and I do not have curly hair.
The show was a bit flawed, but in a nice way, they played beautifully, but the extra twiddly bits were missing. Mister Curly and his strut over to the girls in those black Zorro Jeans, Love those, and my view, has been having a bit of trouble getting back to his Mike after the “WHOO” in Singer, leaving the blond one to solos on the next line “How can we understand?” And the best wrong lyric of the night was during NIWS, “Snazing at people” You can snaze at me anytime sweetie, I still love you.
A few winks and smiles, and a nice wave from the blond at the end, but a rushed concert, the old fellow mentioned 69, Viagra and carbon dating, no one told us it was lovely to see us and welcome, but we were told to keep smiling at the end. It was not a concert you wanted to see go on forever, people looked spent, and I can imagine what they thought of me, a glance in the mirror later scared me, who was this tangled spangled mangled and spagetti haired old lady in the stretched out shirt and wet skirt?
The heck with it.
The skipped songs?
The day never came, there was no leaning on anyone, there was no other side of life, and no drifting of anything, wood or not.
The croud was appreciative, when not takling about themselves. I think when you pay a lot of money, you behave better, a casual atmosphere encourages casual behavior.
The facility was great, they offered free water spigots to refill your bottles, to discourage disposal and waste, and all plastics sold there were corn bases, and compostable, and recycle bins were all over the place.
All in all, Jazz fest in Montreal was sleek and sophisticated, and Bluesfest in Ottawa was fun, and both were not to be missed, I will remember them, and try to get back again some day, when my time is not occupied with the demands of being an international rock chick fan for a who are they anyway?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Wednesday in Canada
July 7
In the real world it is a Wednesday, in Montreal it is Clean up after the Jazz Festival Day, in my world, it is Drive to Ottawa Day. I had thought about staying in Montreal for the day, but decided to go to Ottawa, I had never been, and it is a Capitol, I can add it to my statistics of places I have been.
I collect the few items I brought to my room, check out, and stumble down the steep hill, past the fire station, and down into the bowels of Montreal to where I left my car. All the instructions for using my parking ticket to enter the locked facility, and paying for the spot were in French only, and I was so proud to accomplish the task with little frustration. I then drove thru the city morning traffic, watching the scenery, I could be almost anywhere.
A short drive, only two hours, and I stopped to get gas while still in Quebec. The instructions were completely in French, nothing bilingual, but I was able to fill up, 40 liters, 41 Canadian dollars. Big numbers for a little car.
Found my hotel right away, a complete surprise for the price. A boutique hotel, with lounge, fireplace, outdoor terrace off my room, fine sheets, towels and smelly soaps and lotions. Nothing like the disinfectant smelling, sand paper towels place I had just left.
Working Wifi, working air conditioning, I might never leave the room. After a nap, I go out and explore the Byward Market Area. How nice, numerous restaurants and pubs and shops lining the streets, people out eating, drinking, enjoying life, despite feeling like we are in a furnace.
I decide between and Irish, Scottish or English pub, for libation, and I ended up in an Irish pub. Ordered Canadian beer, and fish and chips, lovely, met nice people while sitting at the bar, talked, and had a lovely night out. The market is similar to others, such as Faneuil Hall in Boston, and Covent Gardens in London, with street entertainment, I saw fire jugglers, sleight of hand magicians, artists, musicians, all asking for a few coins in return for the entertainment. It was twilight still after 9 at night, I made my way back to my room, and slept. Now freshly showered and dressed, I am ready to go out and do it all again.
In the real world it is a Wednesday, in Montreal it is Clean up after the Jazz Festival Day, in my world, it is Drive to Ottawa Day. I had thought about staying in Montreal for the day, but decided to go to Ottawa, I had never been, and it is a Capitol, I can add it to my statistics of places I have been.
I collect the few items I brought to my room, check out, and stumble down the steep hill, past the fire station, and down into the bowels of Montreal to where I left my car. All the instructions for using my parking ticket to enter the locked facility, and paying for the spot were in French only, and I was so proud to accomplish the task with little frustration. I then drove thru the city morning traffic, watching the scenery, I could be almost anywhere.
A short drive, only two hours, and I stopped to get gas while still in Quebec. The instructions were completely in French, nothing bilingual, but I was able to fill up, 40 liters, 41 Canadian dollars. Big numbers for a little car.
Found my hotel right away, a complete surprise for the price. A boutique hotel, with lounge, fireplace, outdoor terrace off my room, fine sheets, towels and smelly soaps and lotions. Nothing like the disinfectant smelling, sand paper towels place I had just left.
Working Wifi, working air conditioning, I might never leave the room. After a nap, I go out and explore the Byward Market Area. How nice, numerous restaurants and pubs and shops lining the streets, people out eating, drinking, enjoying life, despite feeling like we are in a furnace.
I decide between and Irish, Scottish or English pub, for libation, and I ended up in an Irish pub. Ordered Canadian beer, and fish and chips, lovely, met nice people while sitting at the bar, talked, and had a lovely night out. The market is similar to others, such as Faneuil Hall in Boston, and Covent Gardens in London, with street entertainment, I saw fire jugglers, sleight of hand magicians, artists, musicians, all asking for a few coins in return for the entertainment. It was twilight still after 9 at night, I made my way back to my room, and slept. Now freshly showered and dressed, I am ready to go out and do it all again.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
July 6, Montreal
July 6
Tuesday Morning in the real world. In my world it is long drive, no ticket and no hotel day. I was unsuccessful in my attempts to hijack and further corrupt my Canadian friend, who had the law on her side. I of course was planning on breaking several, and try not to get caught. Secure in my position with the organization I was not following around; I stayed in a private home, and did not make a comfort laden journey on to the next destination. I can not be threatened with loss of financial rewards for my efforts, as I am unofficial, and totally here on a voluntary status, and I can come and go as I please, and it pleased me to continue my efforts at driving all the paved roads in North America. I used the magic of the internet to fine a place to stay for the night, in walking distance from the well advertised International Montreal Jazz Festival. I was unsure why some of us were invited to a Jazz Festival, as were many others, but If they call, we will go.
I had a nice meal packed for me, and It was needed, as it turns out, as the journey was neither easy or short. The first few hundred kilometers went smooth, I missed most of the Toronto congestion, and drove at a pleasant 123kph. I really liked seeing the 123 part on my dash readout, but the 109K miles on the odometer was disheartening, as that was done over the past three years, and today is my Sturdy Gerties third birthday, and she is off to get to the promised concerts. I fill up with 29 litres of petrol, and do not plan to stop and stretch until I get to my destination. Somewhere outside of Kingston, the 401 is closed, and they detour us off the highway, and onto back roads. The official signage leads me one way, but the local radio station tells me to go another way. I stick with the official signage, and soon regret it. I was trapped on a small barely paved road near a junk yard, and a family of exotically dressed members, sitting and eating, and using a port-o-san potty by the side of the road, next to their parked camper van. I tried to avert my eye, but as luck would have it, the traffic was moving at the speed of 3, and my attention was needed, I had to look at that curve in the road, and watch grown women and men, sit, squat, and do number two. EWWW. My trusty GPS wants to lead me back to the ramp that we were diverted off, and I had to ignore him, and carry on, following the truckers, as they also diverted away from the signed detour, and followed the radio instructions. We got to another intersection, where there was a patrol car, and a sign warning that no trucks were to go down this street. I left my trucker friends, and ignored my GPS<, who had finally given up leading me back, and was urging me onwards, and I followed my nose. Onto a less then paved road, over a manned set of locks, and thru a troupe of boy scouts, and past farms, cows, goats, and summer cottages, and right to the 401 again. No one was getting onto the ramp, but there was no one stopping me either, so I entered, and got myself back up to speed, florious speed. It was now past my original arrival time, and I still had a distance to drive, and a room to check into, and a venue to find and a ticket to procure, not to mention that I was hot and sticky and hungry, and then I remembered my bagged lunch, I set the cruise control, and ate for the next 100 k.
Quebec awaits me. I now know I am in a foreign country, and the lovely bilingual signs all over Toronto have disappeared, and everything is in one tongue, the tongue of the Franks. I am glad that I know what ferme, arret, sortie, and poussez mean, as I could follow along the rest. I expected to arrive long before the evening commute began, but I plodded along, and turned down the road to my hotel, also a French word, and was surprised to see all the roads blocked off for the festival, I had to ignore my GPS again, and wind around the hills of the royal Mount, and check into my hotel. Next to a Halal butcher, and a fire station. After finding out that parking was a few blocks away, and looking at the clock, I had a serious talk with myself. Should I even bother to go? My answe surprised me, I wasthouroughly scolded by myself for even driving here, all that traffic, the expense etc, and now I needed cash for a ticket. What was I thinking?
I got dressed and went to the Festival.
Ice cream, face painting, lovely sitting areas, food, a full festival, but where were all the people going to see Band? There were rare few going into the doors to the venue, and none looking to sell and extra ticket. Now what, no people in the venue and the best fan left outside in the heat.
I walked around, down a flight of stairs, and voila the billeterie. And crowds of folk entering through the air conditioned and sheltered entrance by the Metro station.
This is what an argument with yourself can do, it can remove all my evil conniving and sneaky thought processes, that which allow me to ferret out all I need to know, and replaces it with common sense, that said to stand by the main door.
I met a nice local fellow named Vincent, gave him American Money for his extra ticket, and went in, sat down, and waited. A 7:30 pm show, with no intermission, as I translated from the sign in the lobby. I had an idea what would be skipped, and was only happy about one song, the others I like, at least enough to travel to strange countries, use funny money, eat odd foods, and absorb culture.
The Show was Fabulous, even better than the night before, which is hard to believe, without me in the front row. I think they knew I was there, though, they played all the songs they do just for me.
The tall one with the red guitar put in a lot of effort, lots of guitar faces, right knee bending, right thigh thrusting of said red guitar, and I thought he was going to go to his knees during Question, like in days of old.
The curly one also did a lot of stage strutting, thrusting and bouncing around, and that old fellow in the back put a lot into his performance as well.
Lots of little subtle extra twiddly bits in the guitar solos, a blistering one during TDWMA, and Singer, and one felt the teen angst during NIWS, really, a perfect perfect perfect show.
Omitted were
LOMT
NCTD
Driftwood
TOSOL was included.
Standout songs
TDWMA
Gypsy, without the blackout, just a red background,, very hot looking
NIWS, I really believed every word of it, up there, top 10 versions ever heard by me
Question
RMSS the crowd finally got on it’s feet.
Overheard talk in the lobby was that this was the performance of the Festival. Cool. I will tell the Band when I have the chance.
Met up with the few otheres of US that were there, at least those of US who know who we are, had drinks, and saw the tail end of the fire works after the festival, and I walked back to my Hotel, with my bad right knee complaining all the time, as It popped out somewhere between YWD and ILS, which might explain the tears in my eyes during that song.
The old fellow says it is still all about Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll, so I took drugs, after the rock and roll, the rest will have to wait.
Tuesday Morning in the real world. In my world it is long drive, no ticket and no hotel day. I was unsuccessful in my attempts to hijack and further corrupt my Canadian friend, who had the law on her side. I of course was planning on breaking several, and try not to get caught. Secure in my position with the organization I was not following around; I stayed in a private home, and did not make a comfort laden journey on to the next destination. I can not be threatened with loss of financial rewards for my efforts, as I am unofficial, and totally here on a voluntary status, and I can come and go as I please, and it pleased me to continue my efforts at driving all the paved roads in North America. I used the magic of the internet to fine a place to stay for the night, in walking distance from the well advertised International Montreal Jazz Festival. I was unsure why some of us were invited to a Jazz Festival, as were many others, but If they call, we will go.
I had a nice meal packed for me, and It was needed, as it turns out, as the journey was neither easy or short. The first few hundred kilometers went smooth, I missed most of the Toronto congestion, and drove at a pleasant 123kph. I really liked seeing the 123 part on my dash readout, but the 109K miles on the odometer was disheartening, as that was done over the past three years, and today is my Sturdy Gerties third birthday, and she is off to get to the promised concerts. I fill up with 29 litres of petrol, and do not plan to stop and stretch until I get to my destination. Somewhere outside of Kingston, the 401 is closed, and they detour us off the highway, and onto back roads. The official signage leads me one way, but the local radio station tells me to go another way. I stick with the official signage, and soon regret it. I was trapped on a small barely paved road near a junk yard, and a family of exotically dressed members, sitting and eating, and using a port-o-san potty by the side of the road, next to their parked camper van. I tried to avert my eye, but as luck would have it, the traffic was moving at the speed of 3, and my attention was needed, I had to look at that curve in the road, and watch grown women and men, sit, squat, and do number two. EWWW. My trusty GPS wants to lead me back to the ramp that we were diverted off, and I had to ignore him, and carry on, following the truckers, as they also diverted away from the signed detour, and followed the radio instructions. We got to another intersection, where there was a patrol car, and a sign warning that no trucks were to go down this street. I left my trucker friends, and ignored my GPS<, who had finally given up leading me back, and was urging me onwards, and I followed my nose. Onto a less then paved road, over a manned set of locks, and thru a troupe of boy scouts, and past farms, cows, goats, and summer cottages, and right to the 401 again. No one was getting onto the ramp, but there was no one stopping me either, so I entered, and got myself back up to speed, florious speed. It was now past my original arrival time, and I still had a distance to drive, and a room to check into, and a venue to find and a ticket to procure, not to mention that I was hot and sticky and hungry, and then I remembered my bagged lunch, I set the cruise control, and ate for the next 100 k.
Quebec awaits me. I now know I am in a foreign country, and the lovely bilingual signs all over Toronto have disappeared, and everything is in one tongue, the tongue of the Franks. I am glad that I know what ferme, arret, sortie, and poussez mean, as I could follow along the rest. I expected to arrive long before the evening commute began, but I plodded along, and turned down the road to my hotel, also a French word, and was surprised to see all the roads blocked off for the festival, I had to ignore my GPS again, and wind around the hills of the royal Mount, and check into my hotel. Next to a Halal butcher, and a fire station. After finding out that parking was a few blocks away, and looking at the clock, I had a serious talk with myself. Should I even bother to go? My answe surprised me, I wasthouroughly scolded by myself for even driving here, all that traffic, the expense etc, and now I needed cash for a ticket. What was I thinking?
I got dressed and went to the Festival.
Ice cream, face painting, lovely sitting areas, food, a full festival, but where were all the people going to see Band? There were rare few going into the doors to the venue, and none looking to sell and extra ticket. Now what, no people in the venue and the best fan left outside in the heat.
I walked around, down a flight of stairs, and voila the billeterie. And crowds of folk entering through the air conditioned and sheltered entrance by the Metro station.
This is what an argument with yourself can do, it can remove all my evil conniving and sneaky thought processes, that which allow me to ferret out all I need to know, and replaces it with common sense, that said to stand by the main door.
I met a nice local fellow named Vincent, gave him American Money for his extra ticket, and went in, sat down, and waited. A 7:30 pm show, with no intermission, as I translated from the sign in the lobby. I had an idea what would be skipped, and was only happy about one song, the others I like, at least enough to travel to strange countries, use funny money, eat odd foods, and absorb culture.
The Show was Fabulous, even better than the night before, which is hard to believe, without me in the front row. I think they knew I was there, though, they played all the songs they do just for me.
The tall one with the red guitar put in a lot of effort, lots of guitar faces, right knee bending, right thigh thrusting of said red guitar, and I thought he was going to go to his knees during Question, like in days of old.
The curly one also did a lot of stage strutting, thrusting and bouncing around, and that old fellow in the back put a lot into his performance as well.
Lots of little subtle extra twiddly bits in the guitar solos, a blistering one during TDWMA, and Singer, and one felt the teen angst during NIWS, really, a perfect perfect perfect show.
Omitted were
LOMT
NCTD
Driftwood
TOSOL was included.
Standout songs
TDWMA
Gypsy, without the blackout, just a red background,, very hot looking
NIWS, I really believed every word of it, up there, top 10 versions ever heard by me
Question
RMSS the crowd finally got on it’s feet.
Overheard talk in the lobby was that this was the performance of the Festival. Cool. I will tell the Band when I have the chance.
Met up with the few otheres of US that were there, at least those of US who know who we are, had drinks, and saw the tail end of the fire works after the festival, and I walked back to my Hotel, with my bad right knee complaining all the time, as It popped out somewhere between YWD and ILS, which might explain the tears in my eyes during that song.
The old fellow says it is still all about Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll, so I took drugs, after the rock and roll, the rest will have to wait.
Lovely morning, they tell me back in the real world it is still a holiday in the USA, but these Canadians insist on starting a new work week. I continue to immerse myself in all things Canadian, and order a Canadian Breakfast. Eggs, potatoes, Canadian bacon and pancakes. Coffee, juice, and I filled my self up, ready to face another day. That was the last decision I made all day that required any effort. The hot heavy air, bright sun cooked me and everyone else, movement was slow, deliberate, and energy sapping, who really wants to work this hard on holiday? I certainly did not want to do much of anything at all. Showering, dressing for a night out all required a level of energy that I could not find, I was sapped. I allowed myself to be driven around, the scenery out the car window alternated from the familiar to the foreign, Green rolling fields, brick homes, and traffic congestion.
I decided that drinking a beer would solve all my troubles. To celebrate my new favorite in the FIFA World Cup, I decided to drink Heineken, by the pint, as I was dehydrated. Those silly Canadians measure a pint in 20 ounces, at least at this particular purveyor of sustenance and libation, and I continued to need libation, every time I stepped out into the heat of the day, I was quickly overtaken by the hot thick smelly air of Hamilton. I decided to leave the establishment and after handing someone several bills with unfamiliar faces on them and in return receiving a strip of card; I was shown to a seat inside a large cavernous room, with several thousand other people seated behind me, no seats were in front of me. I had an unobscured view of something familiar, ringing a bell somewhere in the back of my heat and beer addled brain. I soon found out that if one American drinks enough Dutch Beer in Canada, tall Englishmen appear in front of her, singing and dancing. No not them again. I politely feigned interest for the next few hours. If one watched me closely, they would have seen that the smiles were forced, the clapping unenthused, and the singing following a well worn path, just going through the motions. LIES. It was a fabulous show from the moment the Band walked out onto the stage, several winks from the curly headed one, whose curls tightened up in the damp weather, eye brow raises, smiles from that tall one in the center, and smiles and waves from the rest of the talented folks up there, before my eyes.
The heat apparently did not affect the performance, as the enthusiasm was present, practically palpable, and did not waver over the course of the presentation. What endurance. I was looked directly in the eyes, and welcomed back a second night, wow, they took attendance, and remembered who was there the night before, I am special, and now everyone knows it. They played all those songs that mean so much to so many, and one very special handsome gentleman in the front row spent his time jamming with his friends on stage, and was justly rewarded. It was an intimate and private concert feeling night, one that both lasted forever, and never ended, and was over much too quickly. One might wish to have this experience every night, but then would it be as special, as when it comes by surprise? Than when it is planned out to the minute, with the ensuing disappointment that comes whenever you over plan, and events do not meet up with expectations?
So hot and tired after, but so worth it.
I decided that drinking a beer would solve all my troubles. To celebrate my new favorite in the FIFA World Cup, I decided to drink Heineken, by the pint, as I was dehydrated. Those silly Canadians measure a pint in 20 ounces, at least at this particular purveyor of sustenance and libation, and I continued to need libation, every time I stepped out into the heat of the day, I was quickly overtaken by the hot thick smelly air of Hamilton. I decided to leave the establishment and after handing someone several bills with unfamiliar faces on them and in return receiving a strip of card; I was shown to a seat inside a large cavernous room, with several thousand other people seated behind me, no seats were in front of me. I had an unobscured view of something familiar, ringing a bell somewhere in the back of my heat and beer addled brain. I soon found out that if one American drinks enough Dutch Beer in Canada, tall Englishmen appear in front of her, singing and dancing. No not them again. I politely feigned interest for the next few hours. If one watched me closely, they would have seen that the smiles were forced, the clapping unenthused, and the singing following a well worn path, just going through the motions. LIES. It was a fabulous show from the moment the Band walked out onto the stage, several winks from the curly headed one, whose curls tightened up in the damp weather, eye brow raises, smiles from that tall one in the center, and smiles and waves from the rest of the talented folks up there, before my eyes.
The heat apparently did not affect the performance, as the enthusiasm was present, practically palpable, and did not waver over the course of the presentation. What endurance. I was looked directly in the eyes, and welcomed back a second night, wow, they took attendance, and remembered who was there the night before, I am special, and now everyone knows it. They played all those songs that mean so much to so many, and one very special handsome gentleman in the front row spent his time jamming with his friends on stage, and was justly rewarded. It was an intimate and private concert feeling night, one that both lasted forever, and never ended, and was over much too quickly. One might wish to have this experience every night, but then would it be as special, as when it comes by surprise? Than when it is planned out to the minute, with the ensuing disappointment that comes whenever you over plan, and events do not meet up with expectations?
So hot and tired after, but so worth it.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Hamilton Ontario
July 4
A day which means a lot to so many Citizens of the USA. I am one, but in Canada today, today it is a sunny Sunday. Still unsure why I came here, much got forgotten in the long drive, and the bad dreams that night. I broke fast with a lovely breakfast, hand cooked just foe me, and lots of COFFEE. Began my transformation from local district nurse to INTERNATIONAL Rock chic. As An American, in a foreign country, what better to do than to go to a concert by other foreigners? Where can I go see such a thing?
First up, I must obtain the coin of the realm, and learn the local language. Surprisingly, I can figure out both the money and the lingo, must be my superior intellect, to pick up a strange language so quickly. It is like I never left home, really. This traveling is getting easy. And, the local food is amazingly familiar, and the ice has melted, and I did not need to pack my dog sled to get around, this Canada place is not so bad. But then again, as a hale and hearty New Englander, I am used to such a climate.
After reviewing the rules, and settling our plan, we travel to far off places, to see what can happen, on a Sunday in Ontario.
I wash the filth of the road off of me, and tart myself up properly, must look good, or at least must not look horrifyingly frazzled.
I found myself being hurtled down the road in a Canadian car, much like my American one, and who do you think I saw? A tall flowing haired blond gentleman loping down the street, must see what is going on. His, and his friends likeness was up on a wall, I can go see them tonight. So, I did.
Fabulous show, flawlessly executed. The venue had empty seats up in the upper balcony, but I chose not to look behind me for most of the show, what was on the stage was much more interesting. The usual and customary improvised banter and stage mothions were there, as well as a few deeply personal winks to a few folks, but a winker, not a wanker.
There were four familiar faces, and a few quiet ones known to show up almost anywhere, at least in the audience. I had a nice fellow behind me explain the history of the Band to his chair mate. I found out that they did an album as an orchestra, called “Knights in White Satin” in the seventies, and decided to change to being a rock band, cool, the usually leave that part out of the biography, as they are known to rewrite history. Also I found out that they play whatever song is shouted out at them, and I thought they went by the disputed set list taped to the carpet.
Stand out songs, were TDWMA, heart wrenching
Gypsy, with a blackout instead of lights up at the end, someone will have been spoken to about that, I ma sure
IKYOTS, which they only ever sing when I am there, and do not anyone tell me different, bla bla bla I am not listening
TSIYE I had fun, yes that was me in the corner
IJAS
Question
RMSS
Can we go again? I can not believe I was so sick that I have had to miss all of this the past few weeks.
A day which means a lot to so many Citizens of the USA. I am one, but in Canada today, today it is a sunny Sunday. Still unsure why I came here, much got forgotten in the long drive, and the bad dreams that night. I broke fast with a lovely breakfast, hand cooked just foe me, and lots of COFFEE. Began my transformation from local district nurse to INTERNATIONAL Rock chic. As An American, in a foreign country, what better to do than to go to a concert by other foreigners? Where can I go see such a thing?
First up, I must obtain the coin of the realm, and learn the local language. Surprisingly, I can figure out both the money and the lingo, must be my superior intellect, to pick up a strange language so quickly. It is like I never left home, really. This traveling is getting easy. And, the local food is amazingly familiar, and the ice has melted, and I did not need to pack my dog sled to get around, this Canada place is not so bad. But then again, as a hale and hearty New Englander, I am used to such a climate.
After reviewing the rules, and settling our plan, we travel to far off places, to see what can happen, on a Sunday in Ontario.
I wash the filth of the road off of me, and tart myself up properly, must look good, or at least must not look horrifyingly frazzled.
I found myself being hurtled down the road in a Canadian car, much like my American one, and who do you think I saw? A tall flowing haired blond gentleman loping down the street, must see what is going on. His, and his friends likeness was up on a wall, I can go see them tonight. So, I did.
Fabulous show, flawlessly executed. The venue had empty seats up in the upper balcony, but I chose not to look behind me for most of the show, what was on the stage was much more interesting. The usual and customary improvised banter and stage mothions were there, as well as a few deeply personal winks to a few folks, but a winker, not a wanker.
There were four familiar faces, and a few quiet ones known to show up almost anywhere, at least in the audience. I had a nice fellow behind me explain the history of the Band to his chair mate. I found out that they did an album as an orchestra, called “Knights in White Satin” in the seventies, and decided to change to being a rock band, cool, the usually leave that part out of the biography, as they are known to rewrite history. Also I found out that they play whatever song is shouted out at them, and I thought they went by the disputed set list taped to the carpet.
Stand out songs, were TDWMA, heart wrenching
Gypsy, with a blackout instead of lights up at the end, someone will have been spoken to about that, I ma sure
IKYOTS, which they only ever sing when I am there, and do not anyone tell me different, bla bla bla I am not listening
TSIYE I had fun, yes that was me in the corner
IJAS
Question
RMSS
Can we go again? I can not believe I was so sick that I have had to miss all of this the past few weeks.
July 3
Twisted logic tells me that if I delay the start of the journey, then I delay having to face it’s conclusion. So I wait until the last minute to pack the bags and the car. I am sure that I over packed, and I am still missing some vitally important something I camnot remember.
Driving, I am driving. I pass so many exits that I have taken before to see concerts. I drive along stretches of road that I swear to never drive again, and yet, hear I am again. Radio bores me, the road bores me, nibbling bores me. I wish I still smoked so that smoking would bore me. I pride myself on missing all of the Holiday traffic. I chastise myself for taking this week to travel, and for not staying at the beach.
I Finally hit the traffic. 2 hours to get around Buffalo and Niagara Falls, because some people are cutting the line in front of others, blocking off entire lanes. Ontario might be mine to discover, but no one is letting me get there.
Then I hit customs and immigration. Yes this is my car, yes I have a job to return to, no I do not plan to stay here very long, yes I have a destination. No, I have no weapons. And I was believed, and let thru, then asked for 3.25 to pass the tolls.
Surprisingly, I was not the only Bay Stater on the road, negotiating the wild highways of Ontario, followed by the sedate driving in the suburbs. I have driven in some of the most notorious cities in North America, in either my own cars, or rentals, alone, and with passengers, and I am surprised by the aggressiveness of otherwise famously polite people. In New York, Boston, Los Angeles, one expects the aggression. Toronto was a treat. I have been here before, but do not remember this aggressiveness, people driving 30 K over the limit, passing each other. Last time I recall, getting off, and negotiating the city to find my hotel, this time, circumnavigating the city on the highway was quite different. Not scared, but now knowing the unwritten rules, I am better prepared for my next journey.
I arrived, 580 miles later, my car speedometer set for kilometers, my GPS on miles, two hours after my original estimated arrival time, and that was not including shaving off an hour, so, 11 hours 45 minutes, 40 miles to the gallon, 3 cans of diet coke, half a bag of pretzels, two granola bars later, I arrive, still feeling the motion of the car, and blurry eyed, and unable to sleep.
This better be worth it.
Twisted logic tells me that if I delay the start of the journey, then I delay having to face it’s conclusion. So I wait until the last minute to pack the bags and the car. I am sure that I over packed, and I am still missing some vitally important something I camnot remember.
Driving, I am driving. I pass so many exits that I have taken before to see concerts. I drive along stretches of road that I swear to never drive again, and yet, hear I am again. Radio bores me, the road bores me, nibbling bores me. I wish I still smoked so that smoking would bore me. I pride myself on missing all of the Holiday traffic. I chastise myself for taking this week to travel, and for not staying at the beach.
I Finally hit the traffic. 2 hours to get around Buffalo and Niagara Falls, because some people are cutting the line in front of others, blocking off entire lanes. Ontario might be mine to discover, but no one is letting me get there.
Then I hit customs and immigration. Yes this is my car, yes I have a job to return to, no I do not plan to stay here very long, yes I have a destination. No, I have no weapons. And I was believed, and let thru, then asked for 3.25 to pass the tolls.
Surprisingly, I was not the only Bay Stater on the road, negotiating the wild highways of Ontario, followed by the sedate driving in the suburbs. I have driven in some of the most notorious cities in North America, in either my own cars, or rentals, alone, and with passengers, and I am surprised by the aggressiveness of otherwise famously polite people. In New York, Boston, Los Angeles, one expects the aggression. Toronto was a treat. I have been here before, but do not remember this aggressiveness, people driving 30 K over the limit, passing each other. Last time I recall, getting off, and negotiating the city to find my hotel, this time, circumnavigating the city on the highway was quite different. Not scared, but now knowing the unwritten rules, I am better prepared for my next journey.
I arrived, 580 miles later, my car speedometer set for kilometers, my GPS on miles, two hours after my original estimated arrival time, and that was not including shaving off an hour, so, 11 hours 45 minutes, 40 miles to the gallon, 3 cans of diet coke, half a bag of pretzels, two granola bars later, I arrive, still feeling the motion of the car, and blurry eyed, and unable to sleep.
This better be worth it.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Ready to Hit the Road
Summer Tour 2010 Ready to Hit the Road
July 2, 2010
I sit here, on a worn couch, watching an old analog TV with digital conversion, and surround sound, with a carpeted floor, hot and cold running water, heat and air conditioning. Why this description? I am here in Old Orchard Beach, a place I first visited on July 2, 1994, a Saturday. I was in a tent, with an air mattress, a propane grill, and a battery operated TV, a luxury I treated myself to at the time. I booked the tent site over the phone, asking for directions, and was told to get off at the exit, and turn at the water slide. The water slide is no longer here, but the directions haven’t changed, we still get off at the exit, and turn at the first swimming pool. The campground was hopping, I have yet to see it that crowded since.
I fell in love with the place, not the best, fanciest or nicest campground, but I knew that I was home. I stumbled across this place while going to concerts, I was NOT following the Band, I got there first. In particular, I was going to hear two particular songs, that with the added orchestra, melted me.
Yes, back in 1994, I still liked the orchestra. It grew tired after 1996, with the staid and stagnant set list, but 1994 was spectacular. At least it was in Boston, Great Woods, in Mansfield, MA, actually, with members of the Boston Pops playing, I was in for a bit of a let down, with the Portland Philharmonic this particular night.
I arrived at the campground, staked out my site, and erected our two tents. I was traveling with my 10 year old daughter. She was a good camper and traveler, and I hoped a good concert attendee. We then found the concert venue, The Ballpark, and bought tickets at the box office for the evening show.
I had been at the concert a week ago, and had met someone who told me he was With the Band, and that they wanted to meet me, yeh, right. I was escorted to the backstage door, and when me and my companion were to be let in, said important band person refused my companions entry, stating that is was only me that they wanted to see. HUH?, so I walked away, not wanting to leave my friend behind. Said person, then told me to come back to any other concert that Tour, find him, and go backstage. WOW, if this was real, a few times, it seemed like the Band was looking at me, but they look out at the entire audience, I shouldn’t get a squiggly belly thinking I am special, I am not. Some bespectacled lady was also at the door, begging to be let in; she followed me away from the door and asked me” What Is it that you do to get J to look at you with such love when he sings?” I had no idea, and I backed away slowly, as a nurse I have seen that look in eyes before, and if I was working, I would be getting a nice syringe full of anti psychotic medication ready. I just had my first brush with the crazy side of fandom.
As it turns out, no every one was like me, just happy to be there, to hear the people who made the music that I loved. I could command their disembodied voices to sing any song, any time, by placing the needle in the grooves, but to have them present their music, live, breathing the same air, was treat that I still can not describe properly, and a feeling that I still get, all these years later.
But back to July the second, in 1994. I had two concert T shirts, and I was still of the ilk that by wearing them, people would know that I loved them best, spending money I shouldn’t on tshirts, concert tickets, and tour books. Such love. We went to the show, I was amazed that there were a few other familiar faces there, I had thought that 140 miles between venues would bring me a new sea of faces. I suppose there were a few faces dismayed to see me again, too. We , along with our concert Tshirts, also brought glow sticks. I admit this, freely.
We found our seats, amd I mad friends with the people next to me. They has seen the Red Rocks concert on PBS, and came just to see it in person, and they were amazed that I had seen the shoe already, not just this week, but for several years, with personnel changes, etc, and that I never planned to stop.
How do you explain to people that you have found something that makes you happy? Ther are a lot of miserable people out there, who might think they are happy, but they never know true joy.
The concert started, buggy, and open air. Roadies were spraying bug spray onto the musicians, and I saw my “friend” from the show a few days ago. After the concert, he told me that they were driving fast to get out of here, and back to their hotel, there were no real dressing rooms. I also saw a Band member wipe the bug spray off of his lovely red Gibson, not pleasantly. The orchestra was not as good as in the Boston area, and I came to the profound conclusion that just because you are good at something, someone is better, and some are worse. But the Band shone, and soared above the mosquitoes and subpar orchestra, and I heard “Eternity Road” and “Gypsy” again, and felt transformed, again. My daughter and I scooted up to the front, and waved our mislabeled glowsticks during the correct song, and dit it correctly. Our sticks were purple, in blue labeled packages, and we waved them proudly, and were waved back at, by the Band. WOW. We went to the stage, and 4 Band members came over to see us, and wave. I really think they saw us.
We spent the rest of the week exploring the beach, the amusement parks, the surrounding area, and came back weekend after weekend. Two years later, I became a seasonal, with a trailer, and with one upgrade, have been here ever since. So, today, I pack up my stuff, and my cats, yes, I camp with cats, and I go home, to prepare for a week on the road with a Band. Well, not WITH them, but with them.
July 2.
July 2, 2010
I sit here, on a worn couch, watching an old analog TV with digital conversion, and surround sound, with a carpeted floor, hot and cold running water, heat and air conditioning. Why this description? I am here in Old Orchard Beach, a place I first visited on July 2, 1994, a Saturday. I was in a tent, with an air mattress, a propane grill, and a battery operated TV, a luxury I treated myself to at the time. I booked the tent site over the phone, asking for directions, and was told to get off at the exit, and turn at the water slide. The water slide is no longer here, but the directions haven’t changed, we still get off at the exit, and turn at the first swimming pool. The campground was hopping, I have yet to see it that crowded since.
I fell in love with the place, not the best, fanciest or nicest campground, but I knew that I was home. I stumbled across this place while going to concerts, I was NOT following the Band, I got there first. In particular, I was going to hear two particular songs, that with the added orchestra, melted me.
Yes, back in 1994, I still liked the orchestra. It grew tired after 1996, with the staid and stagnant set list, but 1994 was spectacular. At least it was in Boston, Great Woods, in Mansfield, MA, actually, with members of the Boston Pops playing, I was in for a bit of a let down, with the Portland Philharmonic this particular night.
I arrived at the campground, staked out my site, and erected our two tents. I was traveling with my 10 year old daughter. She was a good camper and traveler, and I hoped a good concert attendee. We then found the concert venue, The Ballpark, and bought tickets at the box office for the evening show.
I had been at the concert a week ago, and had met someone who told me he was With the Band, and that they wanted to meet me, yeh, right. I was escorted to the backstage door, and when me and my companion were to be let in, said important band person refused my companions entry, stating that is was only me that they wanted to see. HUH?, so I walked away, not wanting to leave my friend behind. Said person, then told me to come back to any other concert that Tour, find him, and go backstage. WOW, if this was real, a few times, it seemed like the Band was looking at me, but they look out at the entire audience, I shouldn’t get a squiggly belly thinking I am special, I am not. Some bespectacled lady was also at the door, begging to be let in; she followed me away from the door and asked me” What Is it that you do to get J to look at you with such love when he sings?” I had no idea, and I backed away slowly, as a nurse I have seen that look in eyes before, and if I was working, I would be getting a nice syringe full of anti psychotic medication ready. I just had my first brush with the crazy side of fandom.
As it turns out, no every one was like me, just happy to be there, to hear the people who made the music that I loved. I could command their disembodied voices to sing any song, any time, by placing the needle in the grooves, but to have them present their music, live, breathing the same air, was treat that I still can not describe properly, and a feeling that I still get, all these years later.
But back to July the second, in 1994. I had two concert T shirts, and I was still of the ilk that by wearing them, people would know that I loved them best, spending money I shouldn’t on tshirts, concert tickets, and tour books. Such love. We went to the show, I was amazed that there were a few other familiar faces there, I had thought that 140 miles between venues would bring me a new sea of faces. I suppose there were a few faces dismayed to see me again, too. We , along with our concert Tshirts, also brought glow sticks. I admit this, freely.
We found our seats, amd I mad friends with the people next to me. They has seen the Red Rocks concert on PBS, and came just to see it in person, and they were amazed that I had seen the shoe already, not just this week, but for several years, with personnel changes, etc, and that I never planned to stop.
How do you explain to people that you have found something that makes you happy? Ther are a lot of miserable people out there, who might think they are happy, but they never know true joy.
The concert started, buggy, and open air. Roadies were spraying bug spray onto the musicians, and I saw my “friend” from the show a few days ago. After the concert, he told me that they were driving fast to get out of here, and back to their hotel, there were no real dressing rooms. I also saw a Band member wipe the bug spray off of his lovely red Gibson, not pleasantly. The orchestra was not as good as in the Boston area, and I came to the profound conclusion that just because you are good at something, someone is better, and some are worse. But the Band shone, and soared above the mosquitoes and subpar orchestra, and I heard “Eternity Road” and “Gypsy” again, and felt transformed, again. My daughter and I scooted up to the front, and waved our mislabeled glowsticks during the correct song, and dit it correctly. Our sticks were purple, in blue labeled packages, and we waved them proudly, and were waved back at, by the Band. WOW. We went to the stage, and 4 Band members came over to see us, and wave. I really think they saw us.
We spent the rest of the week exploring the beach, the amusement parks, the surrounding area, and came back weekend after weekend. Two years later, I became a seasonal, with a trailer, and with one upgrade, have been here ever since. So, today, I pack up my stuff, and my cats, yes, I camp with cats, and I go home, to prepare for a week on the road with a Band. Well, not WITH them, but with them.
July 2.
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