“Do you think he’s gay?”
A bunch of New England hens clucked in those coarse accents of theirs.
We were somewhere in Massachusetts.
Breakfast then six hours to Rochester.
I got a mule
Her name is Sal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
That was my favorite song when I was 10.
That and “Darryl & Joe (Krush-Groove 3)” by Run-D.M.C.
Anyway, crossing the Erie Canal reunited my brain with that old chestnut.
We did that Dinosaur Barbeque for dinner.
Ah who cares anymore.
The Bug Jar in Rochester, New York makes good use of their ceilings.
Giant mosquitos as fan blades chased each other endlessly above the bar.
The soundman had his own kitchen, conveniently nailed upside down above the soundboard, with an inverted bathroom catty corner to the terrestrial bathroom.
I liked this place.
So much so that I asked if they had any stickers.
I like to put stickers from my favorite spots on my vintage snare case.
It makes me feel like I’m a living stock photo.
“Stickers. Yeah, I think downstairs. But…”
They never did look.
No drink tickets either.
At least they had a Ms. Pac Man/Galaga machine.
Hey, only the Galaga works on this thing.
What, the first band wants to use my drums?
Um, hold on, this condor is trying to beam me up.
The first band wants what?
Nevermind about the sticker.
I liked the first band.
They were nice.
Small bits of confetti fell from the ceiling during their set.
The Ghost of Dick Clark.
We were the second band.
It was Jim’s Dad’s birthday, and he drove up to celebrate.
Also in attendance were Jim’s brother, and upstate friends Molly and Mary Jean.
We dedicated “Piranha” to a woman who had been mauled by a pit bull ten years ago today.
After the third band the club went disco.
And was suddenly packed.
A DJ sporting a weird haircut chatted up a mildly attractive blondie.
His head looked like one of those fancy pencils without an eraser.
Another guy walked around with heavy blotchy facial tattoos, like a rejected DC Comics character.
I wish he wouldn’t have left the house.
We all got paid in mosquitos.
The other bands wanted to stick around and talk about touring and the music business. None of these ultimately negative topics interested me whatsoever. I opted for the outdoors where Nicole and Mary Jean discussed their bucket lists.
Shooting guns, riding in an 18-wheeler, meeting Paul Shaffer.
That last one’s mine.
And that’s where I stayed until we finally left.