Hearty. Hard on the person but very much worth it. The trip to New York was really a wonderful experience of life and living while in hot pursuit of happiness. I was happy to go and happy to come home, which in many ways came as a surprise. I wondered if I would want to stay or maybe not want to be there dealing in all the crazy stress but pleasantly it all seemed very right, even when it wasn't going exactly easy, it still was very obviously worthwhile.
It's nice to finally have a frame of reference for New York, even if it's maybe just a narrow sliver, I do at least feel like I've somehow got a grasp. I look forward now to a return trip, and a chance to see it from a different sliver, perhaps more under my own terms. I would like to be a bit lazy and less directed, still have some guidance, just maybe a little more open guidance.
I'd do it all again.
Thursday, a beautiful LA type day as I got up, feeling excited driving the van into work. I didn't much screw around but instead made sure all my ducks were dead in a barrel and ready for the scrutiny of eyes that pry when I say bye. Felt nice cleaning up my desk and my papers, getting rid of shit that has set for months. Papers I've shuffled a thousand times, debating weather to shred or file them. I left work just before noon, slipping out in a hail of good wishes. My employers are kind hearted supportive people, they sent me off with a very thoughtful card. I do appreciate that I work for people who lead with their heart.
The drive home from work was a fine high white note. Everything was really bright. I had the radio on, I was drivin'. Nervous, excited, expecting. I got home in no time flat, parked the van and made my way inside. Amy was already home, frantic, searching for a blue sequenced tube top, which she never did find. I realized I had forgotten guitar strings and picks, I made a fast run up to Sam Ash to pick them up, leaving Amy to toss the place in her solitary search.
I came home and changed the strings on my tele, letting the cats chase each one a bit as a I pulled them free. Our cats love guitar strings. I love to change guitar strings. We make happy camp.
Soon the D's arrived, loaded up with soda and luggage. We all waited down front for our taxi van, which arrived just fine. The airport was a happy taxi drive away. I love going on a trip, and so did the people in the van with me, all chitter chatter and excited. The driver was a good driver, he was quiet and minded his own job. Dylan opened his new tool, a digital video camera, and took the first frames of what I hope will be many fine ones. He assured the camera that it would be well taken care of, I silently and privately agreed with him. I looked out the windows of the taxi and tried to keep it all in mind for contrast, hoping to have a good moment later in the trip to try and name a few key differences.
Check in was easy. Security was simple. We were all cheerfully sitting in an airport bar in less than 30 minutes from arrival at the terminal. We were the loudest group in the establishment, which more often than not makes me feel just fine to be audibly alive. We drank doubles. We ate, some of us for what seemed like the first time in weeks. People stared. We can be such baffoons. Dylan filmed some more, we tried to talk but I doubt there was much to say.
The plane was like most others. The boys were seated well behind Amy and I, which gave us our first little break from each other. I read a bit of "A Farewell to Arms", I've read it a few times before, but those little sentences still made me feel excited and animated. There was an inflight movie, it was horrid. Fun with Dick and Jane became more like making fun of whoever made Dick and Jane. The time passed fast. Dark was upon us, I strained my neck to make out the lights of a long standing fascination of mine, the famed NYC.
I bounced off the plane. Feeling a warm glowing rush. Our way was made down escalator and moving floors. We picked up our luggage, my guitar and all 48.5 pounds of Devin's keyboard in it's flight case. Devin led the way to the air train. The air train led the way to the Howard Beach stop, where we transferred to the wrong way subway, headed not towards the L-train and Earls apartment, but to the 68th Street Beach stop, and a beautiful clear night mistake.
I discovered the mistake, because I actually bothered to look at the map and listen to the announcements on the intercom. We all got off, and for the first time I found myself out in the open air of New York. It was dark, around 1:00 am their time, but only 10:00 LA Time, so we all felt decently fresh and Excited. I bounced up and down the platform, taking in Suburban New York City. The moon was full. How nice to be alive in this life, on the move, away from home. Out on Adventure. The stuff of books or overly detailed blogs.
The mistake correction train soon appeared. We boarded and I glued my eyes to the window. Watching in the night as buildings and lights passed by. I saw silhouettes of headstones in cemetery. I figured there were some long dead folks in that ground. People have been dying on the east coast for longer than they have been dying where I'm from.
One transfer and 7 stops later we found ourselves in Brooklyn, Williamsburg to be more specific. A short walk with heavy equipment. I feel sorry for Devin lugging that big mess around. I don't at the time think about all the times I've lugged both of our huge PA speakers up and down the stairs to my apartment. I only think about how hard it must be to be carrying that unwieldy case through the streets of Brooklyn.
It's not a shock that Earl is not home when we arrive. We are fortunate that his downstairs neighbor opens the door for us. Earl Arrives shortly, rather intoxicated. We stow our gear, trying our very Midwest best to be polite about waking the flat mates. Geared stowed we sit on the couch for two shakes and then decide to head out for beer and pizza.
Dylan and Devin were really hoping to take us to a bar called the alligator Lounge, they were both rather surprised to actually get to. The Pizza was heaven, and free with a drink. I had three vodka tonics in about 20 minutes, and probably 2 entire pizzas. AC/DC blared from the speakers. Overly straight boys played pool. We chatted and got on page with Earl, to whatever extent that was possible. It was mainly decided all things would be decided in the morning.
After the alligator we made our way to the neighborhood queer den called The metropolitan. It was nice. We met friendly friends of Earls and proceeded to work up a decent drunk. Soon 4 am came down the pike, and we once again crashed into the Brooklyn night.
We sought out a grocery, picked up treats and Amy and I a 6 pack of beer. Earl and Devin and Dylan fast made way to sleep. Amy and I as usual were far from that precipice. We had too much to absorb, we needed a place to drink beer and talk ourselves down. We settled out on Earls stoop, drinking heinekin from keg shaped cans.
Earl's apartment sits at the end of street where it doesn't really seem anyone would live. There are Whare-homes all around, and one end there is a freeway, I have no clue which one. The sides of the street seem empty. There are only three vehicles parked on the entire block, Two of them looked incapable of self propelled motion.
It was nice to drink beer on my first night in New York, alone on a porch with Amy. I have a fine appreciation of sitting on porches drinking beer. It made me feel connected to my entire life experience, while also making my extremely aware that I was certainly right in the middle of expanding vastly the scope of said experience.
As we motormouthed our way throughout the events of the day and the events in the days to come Amy noticed motion out of the corner of her eye. She thought she saw a cat. I hadn't seen anything move. My farm boy eyes adjust quickly once I know to look, and soon I knew what she had seen. Big FAT rats. Everywhere. Going about rat business, numerous rats, once you noticed them you couldn't not see them, scurry scurry, scavenge scavenge. Amy thought they were cute. I thought it was funny. I thought about the plague. What horrid PR for rats everywhere. Hundreds of years and people still associate with that damn plague.
The beer ended and soon our day did too. We found the open couch in the living room, and found ourselves happy that it was a fouton which could easily be folded out. A dark wave of sleep crashed down.
High heels on wooded floor. Hang over head and dry mouth. Finally the clopping recedes. Sleep again. Wake again. More hangover, not nearly as bad now. People are up. There are no towels. We will be rock and roll. Aware now that this is show day. Much to be done. The new that there is no keyboard stand nor guitar amp at the venue makes me nervous. We will have to find both items in the vast expanse.
There were to be no showers on this first morning. There were no towels. Sticky. Dirty. Rock and Roll. The road is a B. I. Itch. I assumed Brooklyn Tap water was bad, like our water here in LA. I was wrong. I went without and suffered when I didn't need to at all. Ass of you and me. It took much time for folks to gather up and get about for their day. I bounced around the apartment, looking out the windows at the strange new city around me.
The apartment itself was odd. You enter and then climb a flight of stairs, then enter the apartment proper. Directly inside is the door to the bathroom. To the left is the living room and kitchen. We all slept in the living room, on the two large couches. Two doors off both sides of the living rooms lead into the bed rooms, which are stacked. To get to bed room 2 you must walk through bed room 1. To enter bedroom 4 one must walk through bedroom 3. Earls room mates are kind scarce people. I won't see one of them ever, one i'll see once and the third I see three times.
My hangover gives out to bubbles of excitement as we all finally embark on foot at just past 2 in the afternoon, into the city in search of lunch. We find some nice strange moderate priced fare. I get tea and water from a glass bottle. Food is good. Talk is good. Earl makes business calls, then turns off his phone. Then he tries to dial a phone that is off. Laughing. The calls work out well, he locates a guitar amp. Galapagos Art Space will allow us to borrow their backline amp. Holy good fortune! I'm relieved. Devin talks to Sy from another band, who says he can borrow a Keyboard stand. He's relieved.
Next we walk through Williamsburg, making our way toward the guitar amp. I'm praying it won't be solid state. I'm a tube snob and at this point I'm nervous. The Space is really impressive, and the people are very kind. Kind enough to allow us use of their amp, which happens to be a Fender Hot Rod, not only a tube amp, but an amp I'm exceedingly familiar with. I'm now much relieved. All that remains now is the stress of getting the amp, from the art space, back to Earls then into Manhattan, across Manhattan to the Pier, hoping it all works fine, hoping the sound at the venue is ample, hoping I can hear the drums, hoping there will be time to get dressed for the show, hoping my outfit is good, hoping people come, hoping we get to play in front of as many of them as possible, hoping they like it, hoping I don't fuck up, hoping that afterwards I can safely get it all the equipment back to where it goes. Nerves make the world go round.
Earls calls a car service, they send a HUGE SUV, which takes us and the amp back to his house. We call a different, less SUVish car service to pick us up from there, along with the equipment, to take us to sound check at the venue. It arrives and we squeeze in.
We cross the Brooklyn Bridge. I'm taking it in. Finally I'm in Manhatten. I've waited a long for just such a feeling as this. I enjoy the feeling.
We arrive at the venue, it's raining but warm. The venue is bizarre. An old railroad car barge, parked I presume for the rest of it's days next to a large sports complex at the end of Pier 63. There is a strange tent built over the top, which is nice on a such a rainly day. In the light of day there is noticeable age and clutter. The stage looks fine, the PA looks basically fine. I'm relieved. The monitors exist, but the are suspended from the rather high ceiling, and aimed with no regard for the people on stage, in fact, It s my presumption that they are not so much monitors for the folks performing on stage as they are speakers for the listening enjoyment of the folks who on a nice day may choose to gather at the front of the barge, behind the stage. I keep this to myself, as the psychological effect it may have on a certain singer could be heavy. She is a pro, but I like to make it easy on her poor troubled head.
I plug in my amp and hitch up my axe (I've never called it that before but it seemed oh so fun!). Sounds good. We get the sequencer and keyboard hooked up, both of which also sound good. We wait for the sound cat to come along and hook up the vocal mics, which are making no noise. He wanders off. Finally we track him down, apparently they were not working so he was putting off fixing them. Amy and I still had to trek back across town and back to Brooklyn before show time in order to get dressed for the affair, so we were of course a little anxious to get the sound check finished. Finally it's decided that we'll just forget checking and hope someone can handle it later, but as we are walking out I hear a loud pop that came from a microphone. We rushed back up checked a quick song. The strange speaker placement makes for a bit of timing problems, I defiantly had some trouble figuring out timing when my amp is 20 ft behind me and the drums are 60 ft in front of me. Fingers crossed,
eeling creeping in. This is the point where I believe I've got some sort of control over the whole thing, I think I could choose aspects of this new feeling to usher in.
