Woke up early and finished reading the biography of Jaco Pastorius. It made me think of Vonnegut, who wrote in Mother Night “Be careful who you pretend to be, for that is who you’ll become”. Those words kept swirling round my brain to the beat of continuum, and I felt like a driver who knows all the bumps on the road, yet never manages to miss a single one. The drive itself was short & pleasant, straight to the heart of the sarcastically named “city of brotherly love”; never been a fan of this place, mainly due to the unfortunate combination of my visceral displeasure with the local beer laws, as well as my contempt for a vociferous subset of the urban Philly yokels whom I find especially boorish - and that’s saying something considering I’m from Mixcoac, Mexico City! I warned the guys to expect nothing but maximum doucheness, and of course as soon as we reach the venue we are greeted by some of the nicest dudes ever.
Had some brews, played ping pong, and hit South street to enjoy cheese steaks at Jim’s with my dear friend Mitrajitt Dutta, who is currently working in Philly and living in a pleasant suburban bunker far, far away from a city he deems a gratuitous risk. We’ve been friends for 14 years, and he’s never seen me play, but try as I might the corporate carrot was mightier and he bailed early. Dr Dutta missed a tight gig that was very well received, especially by the Nintendo freaks and the soundman, who did all he could to convey to the audience we were a touring band, and that every dollar really counts, but in the end he couldn’t help us sell any merch at all. The tetris game of loading the gear and baggage still wasn’t getting any easier, and thanks to a band before us that had a late start and played a regrettable set, we started late on a long, scenic drive that wound us through the hood in West Philadelphia towards our destination, chez Nate.
The drive itself did nothing to ease the stress, and I remember thinking a flat tire would be a less than welcome diversion, but after enough turns to make me feel like a bolus in God’s small intestine we eventually made it to wherever it was we were going. Turns out Nate and his girlfriend are an interesting duo, and they were certainly very gracious to allow 4 sweaty assholes to arrive at their home by midnight and share their living room with their three cats and skunk. That’s right: three cats and a skunk, and I will let the picture speak for itself.
After washing down Nate’s “crazy wings” and cheesecake with a beer or three, we received a crash course on the vagaries of sharing living quarters with their pets. In particular, one of the cats had brain damage, which affected his sense of balance and menat he could, at any given moment, land on your face in a clawing panic, while the skunk was to be excused for any nibbling, and was NOT to be allowed out of the bathroom during the course of the night; both skunk directives are a lot easier said than done considering the size of the little bastard’s claws and how fast he can sprint on them. Didn’t get much sleep either, but I can’t blame it on anyone but myself. The bear is right: and a brain that keeps going round in vicious circles is the worst enemy of all. His suggestion? Stop! Good advice. I think I’m gonna return the favor & get him a skunk for Xmas.
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