After a soul-crushing trip to the
mall across the street to get coffee and food we embarked to the land of
halcyon childhood memories - Niagara Falls. Yay! American side. Boo. After
about an hour, John, who was driving asked, “So what’s the address to the
club?” I look up and see signs for Rochester and we collectively shout, “No, we’re
going to Niagara Falls.” John, in an understandably aggrieved tone shouts back,
“No one told me.” Because that’s how stupid this band is. We decide to go to
Niagara Falls but neglect to tell the person actually driving the fucking van.
In order to decide whether we turn around and drive back we held an honest to
God Yay Nay (if you say godyaynay fast and with a southern accent it sounds like you're yelling at your grandma for saying something embarrassing about immigrants again) vote. Chuck and Joe voted no, whilst Rene', Lisa, and I voted to
go. Thus the motion carried and we turned around. (John abstained because fuck
us) It was finally sunny out and the whole place was not as kitschy as I
remember, although admittedly I think my memories are of the Canadian side. But
the falls were just as awesome. The river was still frozen a couple of a
hundred yards past the falls and it looked like an ancient glacier, all craggy
and cracked. There was a reverse frozen wave of ice from all the accumulated
mist off to the side of the falls that I desperately wanted to stand inside.
The pathway along the river preceding the falls was closed for construction so
I didn’t get to experience that rush of fear at being so close to death. I
remember as a kid being terrified and fascinated as I unbidden kept projecting
myself somehow slipping down the slope and being hurtled over the falls. When
my family went on the Maid of the Mist all I remember now was looking down at
the black water as the captain kept announcing the increasingly deep depths .
It was like being suspended above some impersonal black hole where if I once
again somehow slipped I would be sucked straight to the bottom and never see my
parents again.
We went to the wax museum gift shop
and all bought fortunes from the ancient machine containing a dusty and
deteriorating mystic that Lisa said looked like Jamie Farr. I told her that was
an offensive aspersion and didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day. Chuck bought
a bag of differently sized adult plastic Buffalo (the fact they were all adults was an important point to him)
that said only the word ZOO on it. He was truly tickled.
We
got to the venue and it was a really small bar with the place where we set up being
a little alcove on the floor. It was delightful though. A bunch of lovingly
framed paint-by-numbers on the walls and a very cool, intimate listening type
room upstairs. It was going to be like playing a house show as far as size was
concerned so we turned way down and played a bunch of songs we don’t do very
often like, “Little Paper Birds,” “Motor Cycle Song”, “Human-Brained Horse”
etc. I had so much fun.
But
here’s the best part. After the show I began talking to a kindly looking
couple, and somehow or other the topic of birds came up. (as they do) (speaking
of, the hotel we were staying at was decorated exclusively with full-sized
Audubon bird prints. What I would give for one of those. Oh, and here’s a tidbit for
the tots: The original Audubon Birds of America is one of the few books for
which a complete census has been taken for every extant edition. People know
the provenance of every single copy. The others I’m aware of are the Gutenberg
Bible and some edition of Shakespeare’s plays. I’m no expert though.) They
looked at each other and then he said, “Well, I’m an ornithologist,” in that
casual way of most superheroes. It turns out his wife was a wetlands biologist
as well, so how cool is that? We had what I thought was a fascinating
conversation (even if they quickly began checking their watch and moving away
from me in what I assume they hoped was an imperceptible manner) about what
defines restoration of habitat. Restoring to a previous unsullied past or
letting nature take its course? The ornithologist said both approaches were a
form of manipulation so one is not morally better than the other and the
biologist said it depends.
What
a great night. I loved the club, the owner was very nice, the audience sweet,
and we got to play some different songs.
Tomorrow Albany.
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