Bean Town
I'm in Boston today. The first of two nights (that means a hotel is involved) at the Opera House. I talk lots of smack about theatres these days, but this one is pretty stunning.
It's got a cozy, Victorian feel to it.
I was in Montreal yesterday. I'm not really a fan. French-Canadia is a little off-putting. It's like doing a show in Paris. Everyone has an attitude and they talk about you openly in a language that you can't understand. I made it over to my friend Page's place for a few hours, which was nice. Page and I toured together for a while. Once in New Orleans he went out skating after drinking Jagermeister and came back with a lump the size of a golf ball over his left eye. For some reason he was laughing like a mad bastard all night. Page is a champ.
It was really nice to be off of the bus, away from the club and in someone's home. Especially someone's home that has a curio cabinet full of Kiss dolls, a hammock in the living room and a copy of I, Shithead on the mantle.
Oh, and it's nice to have a punk rock refrigerator as well.
He made me dinner and played this live Corrosion of Conformity record that he just found, but more importantly he literally dragged me away from the work that I had to do and forced me to have a good time. Thanks pal. It was kind of a bummer coming back to the club and having to do a show and work, but there was a nice bottle of wine on the bus with my name on it. Someone even drew a little beard on the cherub's face.
We crossed back over the border last night, and while it was cold and snowy my spirits were lifted by a little game that I like to call 'how not to cross an international border.'
Step one. Dress up as something reasonably controversial and refuse to speak English to anyone.
Step two. Get in a fight that ends with a giant welt from a hockey puck on your ribs.
Step three. Get on a tour bus with a band. That is all.
Somehow we made it through. Can't quite work it out, but it was the easiest time I have ever had crossing the border into the US.
It's got a cozy, Victorian feel to it.
I was in Montreal yesterday. I'm not really a fan. French-Canadia is a little off-putting. It's like doing a show in Paris. Everyone has an attitude and they talk about you openly in a language that you can't understand. I made it over to my friend Page's place for a few hours, which was nice. Page and I toured together for a while. Once in New Orleans he went out skating after drinking Jagermeister and came back with a lump the size of a golf ball over his left eye. For some reason he was laughing like a mad bastard all night. Page is a champ.
It was really nice to be off of the bus, away from the club and in someone's home. Especially someone's home that has a curio cabinet full of Kiss dolls, a hammock in the living room and a copy of I, Shithead on the mantle.
Oh, and it's nice to have a punk rock refrigerator as well.
He made me dinner and played this live Corrosion of Conformity record that he just found, but more importantly he literally dragged me away from the work that I had to do and forced me to have a good time. Thanks pal. It was kind of a bummer coming back to the club and having to do a show and work, but there was a nice bottle of wine on the bus with my name on it. Someone even drew a little beard on the cherub's face.
We crossed back over the border last night, and while it was cold and snowy my spirits were lifted by a little game that I like to call 'how not to cross an international border.'
Step one. Dress up as something reasonably controversial and refuse to speak English to anyone.
Step two. Get in a fight that ends with a giant welt from a hockey puck on your ribs.
Step three. Get on a tour bus with a band. That is all.
Somehow we made it through. Can't quite work it out, but it was the easiest time I have ever had crossing the border into the US.
posted by L at Thursday, November 02, 2006
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