In my last blog entry, I spoke of possible tour mvps. One such candidate was that first meal of the day: breakfast. On many days I don’t eat breakfast, which is odd since it’s my favorite meal; in fact, I haven’t once eaten before noon since we finished our tour. Until this morning, that is. I woke up way too early today, after far less sleep than necessary. It wasn’t my intention to do so, but the moon, while beautiful, was just too doggone bright, dagnabit. Anyhow, breakfast ensued, and while nothing to write home about in and of itself, certainly got me thinking about Miss Fairchild’s favorite breakfast joints. We always do a top six around here, since that’s my particular number (do you remember that little tidbit about OLLSS’s tracklisting?)and well, I’m the one writing this blog, so I’ll certainly list six places. In fact, though, this is really a top five with one honorable mention. You’ll see why shortly.
We made it. (An earlier version of me would refrain from counting my chickens since, technically, we’re still in the van as I write this. Sam, Wrall and The Rocket are all nestled snug in their beds, but Trick and myself are still wearing tire treads.) The road was good to us. We have been reassured that, fundamentally, people are good. Travelers and musicians are the historic beneficiaries of good-natured hospitality and this tour has proven that to us. I’m happy to say that we were welcomed everywhere we went with open arms; that’s a testament to you folks, our friends that invited us to your homes and clubs, who shared meals and advice with us along the way. We truly couldn’t have done it without you.
Today, I’ll give some statistics about our travels and starting tomorrow, we’ll investigate other aspects of life at Miss Fairchild, including new music (live, remixes and new songs), new videos (remember that vanilla place project?), interviews with the guys about their lives in music, and more. Stayed tune for that stuff. We’ll try to keep it entertaining…
Well, we played the last show of this particular tour last night. Within the next couple of days, I will post the upcoming dates (Baltimore, Brooklyn, Boston, Brunswick and more towns that start with the letter B) and continue to fill this blog with tidbits about non-touring Fairchild life and videos of people playing our songs. We hope you’ll stay with us for all that. For now, though, let’s talk about Milwaukee…
The more comfortable an audience feels with the band, the more likely they are to participate in sing-alongs, dance-alongs and clap-alongs. Of course, they are also more likely to yell thoughts, opinions and obscenities at us. (One favorite was at a Boston show, when one guy wouldn’t stop yelling “What’s your name? What’s your name?” with superhuman lungs, so loudly that we could hear over the P.A. system.) Tonight, it was apparently name game time. As soon as I picked my flute, one such adventurous fan screamed, Jethro!!!!” Daddy Wrall was dubbed “Wolfman” by another. Later that evening, Mr. Nice called Lil’ Sam, because, in her words, “he looks like a Sam.” (And presumably, he’s little.)
So, why not? The Lawfirm of Wolfman, Jethro and Lil’ Sam, now open for business in sunny Bloomington, IN, where it was a solid 90 degrees yesterday. I hope you don’t mind us changing our names again like this. We don’t mean to confuse you, but how can we stoop to refute such astute monikers, dude? (Plus, look at those photos of Wrall. They may not be cute, but this Wolfman thing is a hoot!)
I’ve lived on an island full of seagulls, worked in gardens with mourning doves and blue jays. I’ve spent lot of time in pigeon-filled cities, but never in my life before Miss Fairchild had a bird pooped on me. Now it’s happened three times.
The first time, I was in a car, waiting for the band at Chicky’s in Westbrook, ME. Somehow, the bird crap found it’s way through a cracked car window, past my hand and the cellphone in it, avoided the seat belt I was wearing and landed on the only portion of my shirt that was exposed to air. I had to hang up the phone and the shirt was, for all intents and purposes, ruined, but this event is considered good luck, and I don’t say “no” to good luck.
The second time, I was in Somerville, MA, putting up posters for Miss Fairchild Presents The Miss Fairchild Show when I was hit square on my bare foot, in between my toes, while I was wearing sandals. This time was slightly more bothersome, as my options for cleaning my foot were limited, but I made do and, as I recall, that particular Miss Fairchild Show was pretty happening.
Well, last night in Chicago, I was targeted again. Changing into my gig clothes outside the venue, under an EL train line, I could a glimpse of something white out of the corner of my eye and felt something warm and wet on my left hand and shirt cuff. Sure enough, these Windy City pigeons were Dunlap hunting and I had been hit. Fair and square, child. This time, there was a large supply of wet naps (thanks Jim!) at the ready, and assuming my shirt lives on, I couldn’t be happier about the whole thing. You see, “who’s to say what’s good or bad?” aside, bird poop means good luck. If you think what I’m about to describe is a positive experience, though…
Summer came back a little bit. Our last few destinations, including Chicago (where we are now), have been more than a little sticky, which is “nice if you’re with a lady, but no good if you’re in the jungle.” This according to Adrian Cronauer. Well, we’re in the city and it could be nicer. JedSed has been putting us up while we’re here, a fact for which we are very thankful. That’s what family is all about, after all. But we would be remiss not to thank Bryan, because this is his living room, too. (So, thanks Bryan.)
Have you ever noticed that when people come back from vacation, almost all they talk about (and even remember) is the meals that they ate? “On Sunday, we went to this really nice Indian restaurant and on Wednesday, we tried Snout Broth for the first time…” Well, I’ve joined you today from Milwaukee to play that role. Sure, we’ll talk about the gig in Madison and list bunch of things, but let’s first go back a little earlier in the day, to a time we call breakfast and a place we call Hell’s Kitchen. No, not that “Hell’s Kitchen.” ...
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