July 11-18, 2008

Drove to Hamilton yesterday for our gig, had no problems finding the place, greeted by the owner of the gallery, who parked my car, led us to the gallery inside and got us bottles of water. We did a sound check on another tiny stage, no monitors again. I vowed then and there to buy myself a monitor. There was a guy setting up a camera and lights—we were to be filmed, ugh—I only have about three viable outfits-packed badly again, and wasn’t wearing the best one but people tell me I look good. Still it’s hard to play with the lights shining in your eyes. Every show is a new trial, test. Good thing I had my own mike because the ones they had were entirely inadequate. We are ninja, as Roderick says. The building itself was an interesting space, reminded me of Western Front, had been a casket factory, now called the Pearl. There was a beautiful young girl and her mother there who said hello. Her name was Tiana I think and she was going to sing. We set up and waited. And waited. Finally Klyde showed up, warm rasta man, in fact everyone there was very friendly and accomodating. I chatted with Klyde as Roderick noodled on guitar, helping to enliven the room. We talked of Jamaica, island living and slam, tired subject really but everyone seemed to have a take on it. I explain that I was performing my poetry before slam, when spoken word was inclusive, diverse, exciting and interesting. Finally people began to arrive and the show started in earnest. Klyde got up and did his thing, including a hilarious piece about riding a mini bus in Jamaica. Poor Tiana, after patiently waiting, got onstage only to find that the CD player wasn’t hooked up! We had sat there for hours. It seems to me someone, including us, could have done this as we waited. She sang God Bless The Child and Pappa Was a Rollin’ Stone beautifully. She was very poised for a 14-year old and her interpretations were quite fresh. We got up to play, there was a rowdy bunch in the audience but they were enthusiastic though one woman talked through much of the set, which was nearly as distracting as the bright lights in our face from the cameraman and the fact that I can’t hear myself again! This is mickey mouse bullshit and I’m tired of it. So, we performed to a small but enthusiastic crowd, who danced and demanded an encore. We were swarmed after by several cougars and their boyfriends, one with a big scar on his forehead and a tude to match, leering and making lewd suggestions. We go out of there as fast as we could. I’m glad to have met Klyde though. The show was thrown together at the last minute and he invited us back to do something in the future. We are receiving many invitations, some more attractive than others.

Back in Toronto

I was reading again about the bizarre case of sneakered feet washing up on various BC islands and beaches, which is perhaps why I dreamed of losing a sneaker. I was working on a movie set with one of my boyfriends though I can’t recall which one. I heard someone singing, looked over to see that it was Frank Sinatra, standing at the top of a stone staircase. He was wearing my sneaker! He was frail, embraced me, and though swarmed by others I managed to tell him he was one of my favourite singers. Then one of the crew members tried to convince me that he had been an imposter.

Southern Ontario is so immense! When I left the hotel this morning the weather was warm, now it’s getting cooler and I’m not dressed for it. Will have to borrow a sweater from Aunt Lolly I think. Off on an adventure, to visit my great aunt Laura in Newmarket. Tired but glad I’m going. To my irritation, a young man in gangster garb, ball cap, baggy pants—sat next to me and pulled out a Red Bull then a mickey of Smirnoff as he made dope deals on his cell phone, referring to his product as basil.

I’m glad I spent the afternoon with my great Aunt Lolly. Her name is Laura but they call her Lolly. She is my grandfather’s much younger sister so she didn’t know him very well but I enjoy listening to stories from “down home,” the family lore. They were poor and owning a pair of skates or a bicycle was rare, so her father, Barney, my great uncle made Corona share her bicycle with her cousins. Then he got on it and rode it up and down the hill, my mother anxiously biting her nail and vying for its return. “You’re worse than the kids,” said his wife. He was a real bastard from the tales I was told, to Lolly in particular. It sounds like she was his scapegoat though he liked to scare all the children. He used to bang the walls and once put the pail they used to collect eggs onto his head. It got stuck! He stood at the door and banged his bucket head on the door, crying “Help!” She described coming home one night from the chips palace one night, surprised to find him up as he normally went to bed at 8:30. He told her it was midnight, grabbed her by the neck, ripped her blouse nearly off and hit her, hard, sent her flying. She crawled to the door in tears when her mother intervened but was so afraid, she didn’t sleep all night. She got a job cleaning houses and moved out a week later, said they were estranged for many years but reconciled before he died.

Aunt Lolly and I discussed all the rumors that had percolated around my mother’s birth, that Genora (my grandmother) had been messing around with another guy but obviously my grandfather Reginald believed the child was his because she confirmed the story my mother told us about him going and collecting Genora when they were of legal age and marrying her because his parents wouldn’t give their consent. With envy, Lolly described seeing Corona for the first time: “She was yakking away in French and we couldn’t understand a word she was saying. She had a beautiful green velvet dress, a white crocheted tam and matching shawl. The convent was apparently the source of the aforementioned bicycle.

During our visit, her granddaughter called to ask about the origins of a saying her boyfriend wanted to tattoo onto some body part. They thought it was from the bible, and Aunt Lolly being devout, they thought she would know it—something about life and death. I said it sounded like Latin and suggested he Google it.

Word Jam was great! We shared the bill with singer/songwriter Jeff Scott, a handsome, rather mainstream but talented singer/songwriter. Yehuda does a marvelous job of programming and is very organized. I like that he breaks up the open mike, or open stage” as he calls it, before and after each featured performer. Kathleen and Jessica came out, cohorts from Banff Wired Studio. We had a lovely time chatting and catching up, as I did with Alexandra and James McAuliffe who I have not seen in a coon’s age. He’s married with four kids and lives in Kitchener now. He’s running a small press and writing too. A tube from the amplifier blew a few minutes before show so Yehuda brought a small amp which didn’t sound so great but was better than nothing. It’s the most well organized series of them all I think. We really enjoyed the night. The audience was warm and attentive and our work well received.

CHICAGO

Beautiful, stately art deco hotel but noisy room again, TV viewing interrupted by a piercing wails of a baby, had to move to another room, for the fourth time is it? I’m losing track! Roderick wandered and explored, took photos. I went out with Kurt and his boyfriend Adam, attending a reading at an Irish pub in the burbs but not that far out of the city. Roderick went to the hotel’s wine/cheese/chocolate bar, sat through a poetry reading though I was happy to meet Adam and hear them both read. Bookish, elitist crowd, guess I should have emphasized my print credentials more but I just don’t give a damn half the time what people think.

Adam told me there was no PA at The Cafe, the venue for our show the next night. Yikes! So next day, off we went to get the organizer’s act together for him. We have to sound good! First we went to Mary’s Cafe around the corner to fuel ourselves with breakfast. I love room service but it kills me to pay $22. for a couple of eggs and some toast, hotel food pedestrian as the very least. Roderick dared to eat a Steamer for breakfast, gastronomically insulting layers of biscuits, sausage, cheese and gravy, discovering in the process that what they call American cheese is actually processed cheese slices. Only in Chicago? He’s been recording these encounters with various dishes for posterity on film, appears to be performing surgery with his camera as he zooms in. I think I hurt his feelings when we were in the airport recently by suggesting that perhaps he should not draw attention to himself and refrain from taking pictures, at least until after we get through security. He pooh poohed my concerns and said, “I’m going to be myself.” Okay. What do I know but obviously you haven’t traveled to the U.S. since 9/11. Sometimes it’s necessary to blend in, like a snake in the grass. Cathy backed me up last night and told him they don’t like it and that it’s actually against the law. Should research that but whether it’s true or not, it’s still smart to be discreet, play it cool.

We went back to the room after breakfast, made many phone calls to music stores until we finally found a shop that rents equipment. Not like Canada. Guess we’re spoiled by Long & McQuade. Roderick went to MOCA, saw the Jeff Koons, liked Calder collection better. Kurt picked us up, we went to the music store, decided not to rent a massive PA system, rented pedals, a guitar, using foresight, went to lunch, drew up schematics, Kurt volunteered to lend us some of his gear, went to his place, put everything together, tested signal flow, went back to hotel to change, Roddy ran down to the Moorish themed pool for a quick swim, then dragged to a meet and greet, instead of being able to go to the Art Institute, we socialized for five hours then sat through two hours of open mike. Engaged in public relations, Kurt and Rod set up, his hunch confirmed, when Charlie arrived and informed us that he didn’t bring the mike and amp as he said he would and that his guitarist wasn’t coming with guitar and amp until 9:20. Kurt and Rod got the sound sounding pretty well, challenging for Roderick when delay pedal started screwing up and the guitar had spongy strings. I was exhausted and having to pee by the time we got up to perform. I thought there would be a break between open mike and feature but there wasn’t. Audience hard to interact with, seemed cold, distant, really unnerved me, maybe it was just because I was sooooo fucking tired. It was nice to see Shelly Nation and Michel Watson. Kurt bought everyone drinks and dinner. He is such a sweetheart. I’m lucky to have such a good friend. As Roddy says, we need to get off this pass-the-hat circuit.

We returned to the hotel, then had a drink and a bite to eat in the lounge, our first opportunity to relax, had a pleasant chat over shrimp skewers, veggies and dips, one made from beets. Eating well is difficult and I am always excited to find fresh fruit and vegetables while on the road, ordered half a cantaloupe with that heavy breakfast at Mary’s Cafe. I learned more about Roderick’s upbringing, some things rather surprising.

In the news, a lot of flack over the Barack Obama New Yorker cover. I can understand his reaction. Sure it’s funny but a lot of Americans, the majority perhaps, are not going to get the joke. It will serve to perpetuate the ridiculous lies and rumours about him.

On the plane, on our way to New York city. Roderick has blessedly been helped with earplugs designed for air travel. He had been in excruciating pain during our descent into Toronto. Looking forward to seeing Cathy. I will only have one day with her as she is off to Seattle to meet with Pearl Jam’s people. She is going to miss Josef and her godson Lucas entirely which I didn’t realize until this morning. They are all going to be disappointed as well. Staying at the Coast Plaza in Times Square, which I’m sure will prove to be interesting, to say the least. Also looking forward to MOCA, Central Park and shopping. Lori told me about a place called Mimi’s Basement or something like that, a mecca for bargain hunters apparently. I bought along unviable outfits, again, need to buy a few things. Did find an adorable silk-screened silk jacket at Peach Beserk in Toronto. Enjoyed Toronto this time, not sure why I felt differently about it.

Sure do miss my hair stylist Irene. I’ve had my hair done twice now while on the road and it’s not half as good as her work. Oh well, those are the pitfalls of travel. Back at the hotel after searching and finding new sandals and previously mentioned hair salon. Ouch! Screwed up my feet big time with the new shoes I bought in Toronto. Why do they always seem to fit in the store?

New York city. Have plans to meet up with Kathi Georges, the organizer of the Son of Pony series we’re appearing at tomorrow night, to scope out the venue, the Cornelia Street Cafe. Then we will go to SIR rentals and get the gear we need. It’s great to be back in New York city. I do love it. It’s such a trip. Got the rigorous secondary screening treatment at O Hare yesterday, arrived safely, got a shuttle to the hotel with an ornery, bald, Slavic bus driver. “Welcome to New York” I said to Roderick. Much confusion. The driver and the ticket seller couldn’t seem to agree on where we were supposed to get off. It was not like Chicago’s service which was more expensive but delivered you to the door of your hotel. So we got off at Broadway and 42nd to walk the second block though the stupid driver kept insisting it was ten. Get to the hotel and lo and behold, it’s a construction zone. I am going to complain to Hotwire. Waiting now for another room change. It’s unbelievable. Anyway, the room wasn’t ready so we went to Ruby Foo’s across the street, a tourist trap according to Cathy but I didn’t care. We were tired so sat down and had a couple of overpriced cocktails under massive Chinese lanterns. “Asian fusion” the server said. Got back around 5 pm, showered and slept a little. Cathy came by after work and we went out with her to a place up the street called Thalia, sat outside on the sidewalk so she could smoke. Not sure why but had a few more cocktails and some jumbo shrimp. Roddy returend to the room and Cathy and I walked over to her neighborhood in mid-town, to one of her haunts, Druids. She called our pal Dave the puppet man, who lives 50 steps from Druids, as in my poem, Dogs In The City. It was lovely to see him, it’s been years. Dave is one of those New Yorkers with rent control. He’s now in the middle of a huge lawsuit, landlord trying to get him out. He could be awarded a million dollars, with which he will probably retire to some place warm like Mexico or Costa Rica but not Puerto Rico which is too American according to Cathy, and dirty. She talked of all the garbage and pollution, that they live in Paradise and dump shit all over it. Parts of Hawaii are like that too. Roderick and I talked about the lifestyle, how New Yorkers have their haunts, move from one place to another all day, depending on their work and play schedules.

July 17, 2008

Kathi Georges is a sweetheart, a very generous spirit! Running late, we jumped in a cab to meet her at Cornelia Street Cafe, where she introduced us to the owner. I introduced him to Roderick, “my guitarist, producer.” “Oh, he said. “Your guitarist, producer. I think everybody should have a guitarist, producer. Where is your guitarist, producer, Kathi?” It was funny. People were friendly and the vibe is cool. Kathi lives around the corner, on Bleeker, above a bakery.

Roddy and I took care of business, brought the equipment back to the hotel and I arranged to meet up with my friend Michelle Ridgely. We met in Romania on the farcical writers exchange program. I was so happy to see her, I remember how much I liked her when we were over there. We laughed at being survivors together, what brought us together. We bonded over adversity. We cabbed it over to Kathi’s place in the Village, went up and met her friends and boyfriend, Peter, the quintessential New Yorker, a Bronx boy, extremely friendly, down to earth. He showed us a video he and Kathi had made, a spoof on Lorena Bobbit and related how they had scored the apartment, a real coup in NYC. New York hasn’t changed in that regard. People spend a lot of time discussing realty, housing, rents and rent control. It’s as big an issue as it was when I lived here in the 80s.

My boys flew in! Arrived safe and sound late in the evening. Josef went out a couple of times, bought some beer and walked around Times Square, agog at the concrete canyons and bustling activity. Lucas was relieved to see me, I could tell. Roderick is not happy about sharing a room with the three of us but I couldn’t find another one, the city is full of tourists. I’m hoping Montreal will provide us with more space.