The long and long-dreaded drive from Chicago to Boston turned out not to be worth the dread - maybe even some pleasure in it. A massive storm was gathering over the great lakes, so poetically massive that weather.com said of Wednesday evening: Temperatures will then tumble and the winds will begin to howl. Tim and I got out of town early to avoid this shit.
After many miles, rain, howling winds and stupid late-night fog, we stayed the night in Milton, PA... Jesus, who wants this kind of detail? I don't care for it. But I'll tell you that Milton has an Italian deli with roast pigs hanging in the window and huge slabs of cheese that made my teeth tremble audibly. From Milton to Boston was about three hours, so we did drive that first day.
The wind was blowing hysterically in Boston last night, but it wasn't so exciting as the news reports claimed. We wandered around Harvard Square, bought things, ate pizza, went to the club, and immediately ran to a mysterious tunisian restaurant run by a friendly but overly sensitive and generally mean-spirited woman who could cook, or demand that others cook, as if any half-assed meal would lose them fingers. The lemonade was bizarre and delicious, and other things were also bizarre and delicious.
The show itself was perfect for a Thursday night. A good and appreciative crowd, the kind of crowd that likes to hear new songs and gets excited at the opening chords to whatever old song we're playing. Cambridge is a no smoking town, but still people were in high spirits. Old friends in town showed up, and most importantly: a small cadre of dancing girls in the front row. How could it not be a good show? And it was good, long, entertaining, and the old friends left in better spirits than when they came. Good.
Now breakfast, and the quick drive to Brooklyn. More later.
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