05-09-1997
Cambridge,
 
You'd think that my love of the Pennsylvania countryside would translate into a love of the New England countryside, but it doesn't. They're similar in many ways -- rolling hills, lovely old utilitarian architecture, dim-witted oafs driving big american cars.... I think there's just too many fucking trees in New England. All the meadows seem very carefully placed, where the verdant hills of Pennsylvania seem ancient and content. I did experience an unexpected transformation today, though: we were just entering Connecticut, and I made some foul comment regarding Andy's butthole. It wasn't unusual, and ordinarily I'd say such a thing & giggle with delight. But I was genuinely disgusted with myself, and wondered why I couldn't think of something better to say, or just keep my mouth shut. Really! Then later on, Andy said something about forcing himself on me or something, and I said, "could you please refrain from using such foul language." No shit! And then, I kid you not, by the time we arrived in Boston, we were listening to some Beethoven concerto & smiling sweetly at the morose faces of the toll-booth attendants. Fucking New England, it got the best of me.

It was nice to be in New York again, if only for a few hours. I got to see Polara, and I slept blissfully through a good half of their set. Though thoroughly enjoyable, this nap did not say good things about Polara. They're nice folks, though, and I still remember their names. Our show was okay. There seemed to be fans there, but it's so hard to tell in such an industry- thick town. I got absolutely no attention from anyone after the show and felt totally emasculated (demasculated?) and boring. My friend Aislinn likes me, but she didn't show up, so I felt pathetic. Shit! The East Coast turns me into a fucking whimp. Later last night, when I spent 45 minutes trying to park the van in Astoria, I nearly lost it. I finally parked about a mile from Mark & Kristen's, jogged back to the house & flopped onto a couch that was so thick with their dog Chet's hair that in the morning I looked like a damned Greek. No time for a shower, either.

So now I'm at M.I.T., a filthy, emasculated (?) rocker among the smartest little brats in America, waiting for Tim & Andy to finish their little radio presentation. I used to feel bad about not playing at these things; now I am overjoyed to be left out & given some time to myself.

Okay, I've said enough for having nothing to say.



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