05-08-1997
New York City,
 
We're playing at the Mercury Lounge tonight, coincidentally with a band called Polara, the same Polara we played with in Minneapolis. I have somehow remembered all of their names: Jennifer, Ed, Pete, and Jason. I remembered Ed because I thought he said his name was "Dead," and Jennifer and Jason because they were introduced in sequence, and Pete because at that point I had made it a crusade because I'm so fucking awful with names.

Chicago was a welcome relief from the absurdities of all the midwest shows up to that point. I always feel like some sort of returning royalty there, showered with drinks and good food and entertainment and stuttering fans with big goofy smiles. I shot pool with a blonde woman in a black body suit & felt pretty slick until the Bedheads showed up, and oh I had no time for bodysuits then! Bedhead was in town, recording with Steve, so it was a big social event... Then my step-brother's girlfriend's brother Billy showed upwith his roommate, and we yacked the night away, drinking and drinking. We played well, too -- the shows so far have been loose and fun, with everyone fucking up a fair amount but not worrying about it.

We stayed at Steve & Heather's, mainly Heather's because Steve was in the studio with Bedhead 'til 3:00 AM every night... I had my own room, & borrowed some pornography from the magazine rack in the bathroom so I'd feel at home. My first good sleep of the tour.

We left early Wednesday morning & played Pittsburgh Wednesday night. The promoter was this young guy who was so uptight I swear he's gonna burst by the time he's thirty. But the show was great -- our second show ever in Pittsburgh, and again we were amazed at the reception, loads of squealing kids singing along & actually enjoying themselves. At a Silkworm show! Hard to believe. I wound up outside, keyed up by my pornographic experience in Chicago, trying to score with a 19 year old with a tattoo on her belly, until her white-haired boyfriend showed up on a Harley....

We listened to a murder-mystery book on tape today, driving through the breathtakingly beautiful hills of Pennsylvania. I'm so into the hills of Pennsylvania. I'm so into those massive barns with exposed stone foundations & tall square high-ceilinged buildings with great square windows & utilitarian doorways & spring-fed wells in the basement, & it's all so green & lush in the spring, & the winding roads are so charming, I get chills, I swear I do.... And I saw my first Amish horse-drawn wagon! Shit!

But now I'm in the city. There are no horses here; but I've already talked to a lovely French girl named Pascal (Pasquale? I don't know how you spell it, and besides, I thought that was a man's name), and we're playing a big rock show tonight, and tomorrow we go to Boston to finally meet up with Pavement and Shudder to Think, where we can be peons, start early, finish early, and oh just have a fine time.

I thought I was going to be a total lush on this trip, but it just ain't happening so far. Maybe on the Pavement shows, when I can start drinking hard at eight thirty instead of at one o'clock, maybe then I'll pick up the slack...

I'll let you know --



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