Michael Quinn's Journal

A few notes to help you as you read:

-Ignore the header dates. The journal was posted in reverse chronological order so that visitors can start at the beginning. Additionally, all enteries were written on the road in December 2004.

-The journal enteries were composed by Erin Muir (aka International Girl and Neptune Girl).

And so I have returned! It has been three days since I have been back in Minnie since going on my most recent tour... it was an odyssey of sorts... funny I was reading "Sappho's Leap" by Erica Jong and learning Homeric Greek (therefore reading Homer) along the way... it seemed to correspond to what was happening to us in certain ways, both stories of the soul wandering, half running away from, and half in search of destiny.

So... the players:
Four Acts, Eight People.
The people:
Neptune Girl, known on the tour as International Girl.
(my strongest affinity to Sappho! With a minor minor connection to wily Oddysseus...)
Michael Quinn
(now here's our Odyssesus!)
Erik Koskinen
(most like Alcaeus, but somewhat like a brooding, non homo Achilles. Wishes he was pre Trojan Agamemnon.)
Sean Cosgrove
(Somewhat the Praxinoa, but somewhat outside of it all, more of a loner, and dedicated like Aesop. In fact, I'd take him right out of this story and say he's more like Hamlet than anything and anyone of us.)
YES! I do realize I am blending my stories and my sense of time. So what! Xena does it all the time.
Keith Rintala
(Nestor, but now that I've gone to Hamlet, I'd say a Nestor with a dash of Polonius!)
Greg Wright:
to Erik, he's an Horatio all the way!
Dan Grider and AJ, the jugglers

THE ACTS:International Girl, my band. In this instance, made up of moi-meme, Michael Quinn on drums, Sean Cosgrove on bass, and Erik Koskinen on guitar.
The No Name Jugglers: the two cutest jugglers on the planet, Dan and AJ... www.nonamejugglers.com
The Erik Koskinen Band: Featuring Erik Koskinen on guitar, me and Michael on backup vocals, Keith Rintala on guitar, Sean Cosgrove on bass, and Greg Wright on drums.
Michael Quinn and the Virgin Suicides: Michael Quinn, lead vocals and rhythm guitar. Erik Koskinen, lead guitar. Sean Cosgrove, bass. Greg Wright, drums. INTL Girl on vocals.

We were supposed to leave on October 31st, after Erik's Radio Halloween show with Molly Maher at the Turf Club in Saint Paul. Alas, the van was not road ready! Our sturdy vessel, Bessie, needed brake work still... we were held like the soldiers on the bay at Aulis. I hoped we wouldn't be stuck as long as they were! Luckily, our travels were being held up by money and time, not the wind. (In heroic terms though, it may has well have been the same damn thing!)November 1st, a Monday. At laaaaaast! Only, the van was still taking its time... so Michael and I ran out to buy Erik a birthday gift. His birthday was coming up, and he didn't want anyone in the band to know! How Scandinavian of him. How did I know? Well, first of all, when he first arrived, Michael had asked him his birthday again in front of me to gain hold of his astrological personality. He told us: November 3rd. Then, he was on the phone with someone from his hometown while Mike and I were standing right there on Monday morning. I heard him say, "Thank you! Yeah, I'll be in Portland that day. But no one in the band knows.... I don't want them to know." Well, it doesn't take a math teacher's daughter to put two and two together, although in this case, I guess that's what happened. I whispered to Mike, "let's get Erik a birthday present!" And away we went. We were looking for anything cowboy, rockabilly, or vintage-sexy. We went to Theatre Antiques in Minneapolis, over on Lyndale, and found a sweet cigarette case with a naked show girl on the cover. It may have been circa 1870 or 1970... to tell you the truth, I have no idea. And at this point, all I remember was that she had red hair. Then, we ran to the liquor store and picked up the most cowboy liquor we could find: GEORGE DICKEL SIPPIN' WHISKEY. Uh huh, the bottle with the old time paper label. (a gentleman in the store said, "Dem boyz sure do get happy when dey're on da Dickel!" Fast forward to 5 pm. At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast! The van is ready. We load up and load out. One hour later: Saint Cloud Minnesota. The van is smoking. In fact, it smells strongly of fire...

dun dun dun!!!!!

Find out what happened in my NEXT installment of the TOUR DIARIES!
Will the band actually leave Minnesota?
Where are the jugglers?
Are the boys really actually happy when they're on the Dickel?
Find out all this and MORE next time in the TOUR DIARIES!

Welcome, kids, and gather round! I shall tell you all I know about Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004...

I awoke somewhere in North Dakota, about ten miles from Montana. We stopped for breakfast at a Flying J truck stop, and I freaked out about money. Michael promptly freaked out as well, but everyone else seemed to take it pretty well. They went ahead and ate bizarre and atrocious things for breakfast: chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup- disgusting... Michael and I are yogurt and fruit in the car. Then back on the road. We stopped. Then we stopped again. And again and again. Valvoline had put too much oil in, if you can believe it, so we had to drain it, and then check everytime we filled up. Since we were driving a six passenger Dodge conversion van AND pulling a 5 by 8 trailer, we were polluting like no one's business. I am so sorry. At least I had absentee voted for Kerry, though... I know. It doesn't make up for it.

Finally, that evening, about 8 pm (I think.... it was about this time I ceased being truly aware of the day and time. I go pretty fast!) we stopped in Missoula to get some information on what was happening with the election.

Meanwhile, back in Minneapolis, a Minnesotan rock institution was closing- of course, not for good, as it reopened a few days ago- but First Ave was CLOSING! Also, somewhere along the line while I was away, Oprah apparently took Xena off her channel in the mornings. Now I am forced to watch Katie Couric in the mornings while doing my yoga, hence watching nothing. I'm probably better off except that I love Xena and it gives me a very geeky lovely feeling of being able to actually go through my day without sticking my head in the oven. Thanks a lot, Oprah, or O channel execs, now I have no outlet unless I buy the DVDs, which I definitely do NOT have money for!

But I digress.

We walked into a bar on... ermm... one of the main streets... and lo and behold.... Bush was winning! ! ? ! ? ! ? Wha..................!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! I couldn't believe it. Were Americans that misled, that selfish, that foolish? Was I so far out of touch with half the country? In fact, more, since I voted for Kerry only so that Bush wouldn't win..... Kerry is about as left as my Mother's right foot.... in fact, I loved Dennis Kucinich, but.....

Here is a quote to that I like:

This is an article from www.fuckthesouth.com. The author is "a member of
the Northeast Liberal Elite and is fucking done being a scapegoatfor the
Republican Party." If you're offended by 4 letter words, plug your ears while
reading.

Fuck the South. Fuck 'em. We should have let them go when they wanted to
leave. But no, we had to kill half a million people so they'd stay part of our
special Union. Fighting for the right to keep slaves - yeah, those are states we
want to keep.

And now what do we get? We're the fucking Arrogant Northeast Liberal Elite?
How about this for arrogant: the South is the Real America? The Authentic
America. Really?

Cause we fucking founded this country, assholes. Those Founding Fathers you
keep going on and on about? All that bullshit about what you think they meant by
the Second Amendment giving you the right to keep your assault weapons in the
glove compartment because you didn't bother to read the first half of the
fucking sentence? Who do you think those wig-wearing lacy-shirt sporting
revolutionaries were? They were fucking blue-staters, dickhead. Boston?
Philadelphia? New York? Hello? Think there might be a reason all the fucking
monuments are up here in our backyard?

No, No. Get the fuck out. We're not letting you visit the Liberty Bell and
fucking Plymouth Rock anymore until you get over your real American selves and
start respecting those other nine amendments. Who do you think those fucking
stripes on the flag are for? Nine are for fucking blue states. And it would be
10 if those Vermonters had gotten their fucking Subarus together and broken off
from New York a little earlier. Get it? We started this shit, so don't get all
uppity about how real you are you Johnny-come-lately "Oooooh I've been a state
for almost a hundred years" dickheads. Fuck off.

Arrogant? You wanna talk about us Northeasterners being fucking arrogant?
What's more American than arrogance? Hmmm? Maybe horsies? I don't think so.
Arrogance is the fucking cornerstone of what it means to be American. And I
wouldn't be so fucking arrogant if I wasn't paying for your fucking bridges,
bitch.

All those Federal taxes you love to hate? It all comes from us and goes to
you, so shut up and enjoy your fucking Tennessee Valley Authority electricity
and your fancy highways that we paid for. And the next time Florida gets hit by
a hurricane you can come crying to us if you want to, but you're the ones who
built on a fucking swamp. "Let the Spanish keep it, it’s a shithole," we said,
but you had to have your fucking orange juice.

The next dickwad who says, "It’s your money, not the government's money" is
gonna get their ass kicked. Nine of the ten states that get the most federal
fucking dollars and pay the least... can you guess? Go on, guess. That’s right,
motherfucker, they're red states. And eight of the ten states that receive the
least and pay the most? It’s too easy, asshole, they’re blue states. It’s not
your money, assholes, it’s fucking our money. What was that Real American Value
you were spouting a minute ago? Self reliance? Try this for self reliance: buy
your own fucking stop signs, assholes.

Let’s talk about those values for a fucking minute. You and your Southern
values can bite my ass because the blue states got the values over you fucking
Real Americans every day of the goddamn week. Which state do you think has the
lowest divorce rate you marriage-hyping dickwads? Well? Can you guess? It’s
fucking Massachusetts, the fucking center of the gay marriage universe. Yes,
that’s right, the state you love to tie around the neck of anyone to the left of
Strom Thurmond has the lowest divorce rate in the fucking nation. Think that’s
just some aberration? How about this: 9 of the 10 lowest divorce rates are
fucking blue states, asshole, and most are in the Northeast, where our values
suck so bad. And where are the highest divorce rates? Care to fucking guess? 10
of the top 10 are fucking red-ass we're-so-fucking-moral states. And while
Nevada is the worst, the Bible Belt is doing its fucking part.

But two guys making out is going to fucking ruin marriage for you? Yeah?
Seems like you're ruining it pretty well on your own, you little bastards. Oh,
but that's ok because you go to church, right? I mean you do, right? Cause we
fucking get to hear about it every goddamn year at election time. Yes, we're
fascinated by how you get up every Sunday morning and sing, and then you're
fucking towers of moral superiority. Yeah, that's a workable formula. Maybe us
fucking Northerners don't talk about religion as much as you because we're not
so busy sinning, hmmm? Ever think of that, you self-righteous assholes? No,
you're too busy erecting giant stone tablets of the Ten Commandments in
buildings paid for by the fucking Northeast Liberal Elite. And who has the
highest murder rates in the nation? It ain't us up here in the North,
assholes.Well this gravy train is fucking over.

Take your liberal-bashing, federal-tax-leaching, confederate-flag-waving,
holier-than-thou, hypocritical bullshit and shove it up your ass.

And no, you can't have your fucking convention in New York next time. Fuck
off.

Okay.... so here's another one:

Here's another article in the vein of "Fuck the South", but it's far less angry & more thoughtfull & has the advantage of being rather beautifully written.

Why Americans Hate Democrats-A Dialogue
The unteachable ignorance of the red states.
By Jane SmileyUpdated Thursday, Nov. 4, 2004, at 3:24 PM PT FROM
SLATE

I say forget introspection. It's time to be honest about our antagonists.
My predecessors in this conversation are thoughtful men, and I honor their
ideas, but let's try something else. I grew up in Missouri and most of my family
voted for Bush,* so I am going to be the one to say it: The election results
reflect the decision of the right wing to cultivate and exploit ignorance in the
citizenry. I suppose the good news is that 55 million Americans have evaded the
ignorance-inducing machine. But 58 million have not. (Well, almost 58 million-my
relatives are not ignorant, they are just greedy and full of classic Republican
feelings of superiority.)

Ignorance and bloodlust have a long tradition in the United States,
especially in the red states. There used to be a kind of hand-to-hand fight on
the frontier called a "knock-down-drag-out," where any kind of gouging, biting,
or maiming was considered fair. The ancestors of today's red-state voters used
to stand around cheering and betting on these fights. When the forces of red and
blue encountered one another head-on for the first time in Kansas Territory in
1856, the red forces from Missouri, who had been coveting Indian land across the
Missouri River since 1820, entered Kansas and stole the territorial election.
The red news media of the day made a practice of inflammatory lying-declaring
that the blue folks had shot and killed red folks whom everyone knew were
walking around. The worst civilian massacre in American history took place in
Lawrence, Kan., in 1862-Quantrill's raid. The red forces, known then as the
slave-power, pulled 265 unarmed men from their beds on a Sunday morning and
slaughtered them in front of their wives and children. The error that
progressives have consistently committed over the years is to underestimate the
vitality of ignorance in America. Listen to what the red state citizens say
about themselves, the songs they write, and the sermons they flock to. They know
who they are-they are full of original sin and they have a taste for violence.
The blue state citizens make the Rousseauvian mistake of thinking humans are
essentially good, and so they never realize when they are about to be slugged
from behind.

Here is how ignorance works: First, they put the fear of God into you-if
you don't believe in the literal word of the Bible, you will burn in hell. Of
course, the literal word of the Bible is tremendously contradictory, and so you
must abdicate all critical thinking, and accept a simple but logical system of
belief that is dangerous to question. A corollary to this point is that they
make sure you understand that Satan resides in the toils and snares of complex
thought and so it is best not try it.

Next, they tell you that you are the best of a bad lot (humans, that is)
and that as bad as you are, if you stick with them, you are among the chosen.
This is flattering and reassuring, and also encourages you to imagine the
terrible fates of those you envy and resent. American politicians ALWAYS operate
by a similar sort of flattery, and so Americans are never induced to question
themselves. That's what happened to Jimmy Carter-he asked Americans to take
responsibility for their profligate ways, and promptly lost to Ronald Reagan,
who told them once again that they could do anything they wanted. The history of
the last four years shows that red state types, above all, do not want to be
told what to do-they prefer to be ignorant. As a result, they are virtually
unteachable.

Third, and most important, when life grows difficult or fearsome, they
(politicians, preachers, pundits) encourage you to cling to your ignorance with
even more fervor. But by this time you don't need much encouragement-you've put
all your eggs into the ignorance basket, and really, some kind of miraculous
fruition (preferably accompanied by the torment of your enemies, and the
ignorant always have plenty of enemies) is your only hope. If you are
sufficiently ignorant, you won't even know how dangerous your policies are until
they have destroyed you, and then you can always blame others.

The reason the Democrats have lost five of the last seven presidential
elections is simple: A generation ago, the big capitalists, who have no morals,
as we know, decided to make use of the religious right in their class war
against the middle class and against the regulations that were protecting those
whom they considered to be their rightful prey-workers and consumers. The
architects of this strategy knew perfectly well that they were exploiting, among
other unsavory qualities, a long American habit of virulent racism, but they did
it anyway, and we see the outcome now-Cheney is the capitalist arm and Bush is
the religious arm. They know no boundaries or rules. They are predatory and
resentful, amoral, avaricious, and arrogant. Lots of Americans like and admire
them because lots of Americans, even those who don't share those same qualities,
don't know which end is up. Can the Democrats appeal to such voters? Do they
want to? The Republicans have sold their souls for power. Must everyone?

Progressives have only one course of action now: React quickly to every
outrage-red state types love to cheat and intimidate, so we have to assume the
worst and call them on it every time. We have to give them more to think about
than they can handle-to always appeal to reason and common sense, and the law,
even when they can't understand it and don't respond. They cannot be allowed to
keep any secrets. Tens of millions of people didn't vote-they are watching, too,
and have to be shown that we are ready and willing to fight, and that the battle
is worth fighting. And in addition, we have to remember that threats to
democracy from the right always collapse. Whatever their short-term appeal, they
are borne of hubris and hatred, and will destroy their purveyors in the
end.

Correction, Nov. 8, 2004: When I wrote the line about all my Missouri
relatives voting for Bush, I was, of course, making an assumption (in which, of
course, there is an a--). This morning (Friday), one of the relatives I was
thinking of, my cousin, Jody, happened to be dropping something off at a
construction site, and when he went into the office, he heard my name being
taken in vain by R___ L________. Mr. L_______ quoted me as saying that all my
Missouri relatives had voted for Bush, and my cousin went straight home and
called me to say, "Not me, not my mom, not my brother, and not my wife." My
cousin, who is 58, was in the Navy for 25 years, from the Vietnam War to the
Gulf War. When he came out, I recognized that even though I loved him, he was
sexist, racist, and homophobic. We had a few arguments and then lost touch. As a
result of marriage, a college education, and considerable introspection, he's
converted. He said when I spoke to him, "I wasn't going to vote a straight
Democratic ticket, but when I read it over afterward, I saw that I had." And so
I stand corrected. The family vote (as far as I can discern) has shifted from 9
D vs. 24 R to 14 D vs. 19 R.

Also, my brother called my sister and asked her, "So which am I, greedy,
pompous, or ignorant?" We told him we would get back to him on that. (Return to
the original sentence.)

Jane Smiley is the author of many novels and essays.

Alright. I would like to point out that conservatives have been spending millions of dollars over the last 30 years learning how to frame language in such a way that people actually believe it.... most of us poor progressive types feel that if you just present the truth to people, they will figure it out and make good decisions based on the information available to them. Obviously not.

As far as the whole Christian things goes, it seems to me that Jesus was MOST concerned with helping the poor, but this is America, so forget that.

By Wednesday morning, most of us were crying. It was then that we pulled into Portland.

Catch more in my tour diaries, part 3, coming sooner rather than later. ;)

neptunegirl

By the way, a pre-emptive: Happy Thanksgiving. Really, I don't really like this holiday all that much. Seems kind of hypocritical to me, bleeding heart lover that I am. Although I do love cranberries, sweet potatoes, sweet potato pie, and pumpkin pie. I am, however, embarking upon a raw food journey for an unspecified amount of time. Of course, I will allow myself to have my favorites today.... to not would just be cruel! And it is important to remember the things for which we are thankful... poetry, music, film, my boyfriend Michael, my friends Josh, Erin, Erika, Jeremiah, my sister Laura, my brother Cory, my mom and dad, the internet, books, Collin Firth. ;)

TOUR DIARIES PART 3

Wednesday, November 3rd... Portland, OR.

The previous evening, in the midst of a drunken Bush bashing haze, we had to locate the jugglers... they had driven separately and their car was having problems... as many problems as we were having, only they didn't stop along the way to check it out... when we found them, there car was broken down at the Portland Zoo. They assured us it would start soon, though, and so I directed them to call my friend Mary Anne, a glorious a friendly girl I had gone to college with. She was so sweet, she took them into her home, fed them, entertained them, and later came with us to Seattle!

We actually awoke in the Dalles, not Portland. Hungover haze. ;) We ate at some little restaurant called Johnny Angel's or something like that.... we picked it because they had a lot of Elvis pictures on the wall (I noticed that a lot on this tour, by the way... we went to at least four bars or restaurants with Elvis on the wall.... a harbinger perhaps of lots of peanut butter and banana sandwiches to be had?) It was Erik's birthday, after all, and he likes that kind of thing. By the way, I noticed that the boys in the band had the opposite eating habits that I do. Here's a prime example:

Breakfast on November 2nd, 2004
Erin: yogurt and fruit, water
Erik: chocolate chip pancakes, approximately one pot of coffee
Sean: big stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs

Breakfast on November 3rd, 2004:
Erin: veggie omelet, no cheese. Half a cup of coffee, a pitcher of water.
Michael: biscuits and gravy, pancakes with syrup, hashbrowns, bacon, coffee with cream and sugar.
Sean: the biggest, most meat filled omelet I have ever seen, a pot of decaf
Erik: country fried steak, hashbrowns, a pot of regular coffee, black
Keith: oatmeal with cream, brown sugar, and raisins; a glass of milk; biscuits and gravy

okay. Well, people should eat what they want! But I don't want to hear about it when they have heart attacks. No thank you. Couple that kind of cholesterol-laden, fat filled food with the amount of whiskey we were drinking, and you're asking for trouble! You'll get your heart and your liver, and I don't even want to get into the amount of smoking shared between Erik and Michael. Both tall, skinny boys, I might add.... But at least Erik is (as far as I know) kind of healthy. Except for that chronic, deep chested cough... Michael has every reason in the world to eat right, not drink, and quit smoking. (Type 1 diabetes!) I KNOW I AM A NAGGY WITCH about this stuff. But these silly boys should know that at least I love them, at least I care. That's why I nag. ;)

After some fighting and squabbling (typical), we took off for Portland. We arrived at the White Eagle Saloon, a HAUNTED hotel and saloon, according to Travel Channel. Here's the link to a very charming little spot:http://mcmenamins.com/index.php?loc=55&category=Location%20Homepage

Michael and I got our own room, which was seriously nice.

We presented Erik with his birthday gift... that's right... that's when the Dickel drinking ACTUAlly BEGAN... a bottle of George Dickel and a saloon girl cigarette case, filled with Marlboros. Okay so I am full of contradictions. Quit smoking, but here's a pack. So sue me for being a pisces.

We split up then, finding the jugglers, Michael, Sean, the jugglers and I headed out into Portland, where we saw protest after protest. Signs read things like "51 % is not a majority, it's a split!" and "Not our president" and "Not our war." A lot of very charming policemen (and trust me, I almost never find police officers charming, so you know these guys and gals were cute!) lined the plazas on bikes. How cute! Bikes! And horses. Horses! The jugglers split off to find some cute girls. Boy, those juggler boys, Dan and AJ, sure were cute. Sure ARE cute. They ended up getting the most girls, too, by the way, no matter how much smack the rest of the boys talked.

By the way. I am here to set the record straight.

Men talk about women. Men talk smack. Some men keep the most disgusting things to themselves. Most do not. Especially in bands. Especially guys in bands that also work construction. If you are a woman and you walk by, they will mention your breasts, your belly, your hair (rarely, unless it's really nice or really terrible.) your ass, your skirt, your legs. They will almost never say ANYTHING about your eyes. All this talk about "eyes" being a favorite feature is a load of bullshit. I have been one of the boys long enough to realize that men either like breasts or butt best, with a few liking legs or belly. What these guys don't remember is that I am a dyed in the wool feminist, goddess worshiper and girlfriend always true to my fellow amazonians. I love guys, and I actually don't think it's wrong to talk this way (unless they are talking untrue bullshit gossip about a woman, then I am secretly and or openly pissed at them forever and will always decry said individual of my experience as a jerk, and will never share anything personal with them or smile too long, because god knows if you smile at a guy long enough, it obviously means you want to suck his dick.) NOW let's set the record straight about women. Some are competitive and some are not. I choose not to engage but admire and support, because I think kindness and friendship between women is the most important thing in the world. I refuse to fall into some old-fashioned societal bull about competition, even if there are biological or evolutionary responses, I am a sentient, logical, emotional, faithful woman who believes in the power of women and especially the power of women sticking together. But let it be known that women will also talk smack. And it can get gross. And it can get disgusting.

In general, though, I have heard worse from men, to be fair. And that's when I'm around...

Okay.

That being said, those juggler boys were REALLY REALLY CUTE.

Michael and Sean and I went to the 30th floor of the bank building for some expensive cocktails and cheap gourmet food. The view was great. The drinks were strong, so they were worth it. But we were sad. Half our fellow country people were fooled, foolish, stupid, or selfish...

I drank a lot before returning to the White Eagle Saloon. I figured about the only thing I could do was fight... stand up for my beliefs and be who I am, no matter how far out of "mainstream" that might be. Who ever wanted to be mainstream anyways? Lots of people, I know, but never me.... Of course I'd like the money that comes from being a mainstream superstar, lol. But that's not the same as aligning myself with a bunch of lies and false morality. I've read the bible. Heck, I'm learning ancient Greek so I can read the new testament in its original language. I know what Jesus cared about and it was kindness, love, helping the poor and healing the sick. So suck on that for a while. What has Bush done to heal the sick? Help the poor? Respect the earth? Love thine enemy? Turn the other cheek? Etc. Don't give me a bunch of lies. I learned to think for myself.

And so, we returned to the White Eagle hotel upon the eve of our first gig of the tour... Michael, Sean and I returned to find that Erik and Keith had already set up all the gear. The saloon did not want us to park Bessie (our six passenger conversion van) plus trailer in their lot, so they had unloaded immediately upon return to the venue and parked elsewhere. I was, at first, touched and thankful, although I realized later that evening that from that point on, Michael and I would want to unload and check over all our own gear ourselves, set it up, tune it up ourselves, etc., because no matter how well-intentioned a person might be, that person isn't intimately familiar with what you want out of stage and gear, unless, of course, said person is your roadie. Duh. But no one was a roadie on this trip, even if they sometimes acted the part!

I returned to our room to see if it was haunted and to get ready.

Here is my process for International Girl:
1. Do a series of vocalises, fairly simple, mostly scales. Do some sirens.
2. Unload all costumes and pick out which one(s) to wear for the evening.
3. Put hair up.
4. (optional) Plug in curling iron. This works best if I have not washed my hair recently.
5. Put on International Girl Underwear, including fancy bra, panties, possibly garter (if not wearing stay-up-by-self stockings), stockings. I may possibly put my shoes on now.
6. If I am rich, I will have all the makeup and accoutrements. If I am not, and I usually am not, I have to make do with what I have.
7. Pluck eyebrows, if necessary.
8. Concealer.
9. Foundation.
10. Possibly concealer again.
11. Translucent powder.
12. Blush on cheekbones, contour on temples, in between breasts with various shades of white, red, pink, brown, etc.
13. Line lips
14. Lipstick, although I often wait until after I put on dress/ shirt
15. Eyeliner: inside rims, around eyelids.
16. Brow liner, to fill in and shape.
17. Extra eyeliner to create cat eye
18. creases and corners with dark brown or festive color if feeling frisky ;)
19. highlighting with lighter colors.
20. blend and smudge, add color or clean up where necessary.
21. False eyelashes: usually I do right eye first, i think, although it doesn't really matter.Note: most of this I can do without a mirror, in the dark, and/or while driving.
22. Put on dress/ outfit.
23. Consider hair. Am I wearing it down but waved like Veronica Lake? Am I putting it up in messy sections? Am I making it very very big like Brigitte Bardot? Those are about the only three things I usually do... every once in a while I will put all my hair in rollers and do something curly and flouncy, but not too often. I have found that I get the most compliments from the Veronica Lake style, and second most from Brigitte Bardot. I personally prefer Brigitte Bardot, but that one sometimes doesn't work out. It's an adventure.
24. Accessories, if I have some, shoes, if they're not on yet.
25. Rush to find musicians and show them my songs for the evening. Pray they don't fuck it up.

Musicians who have never fucked up my songs: Tom Zosel

Musicians who almost almost almost never have fucked up my songs: Sean Cosgrove, Michael Quinn, (me), Frenchy Fremont, Dave Salmela

Musicians who are pretty darn good at my songs: Jeff Victor (despite never practicing), Erik Koskinen (despite never practicing.) (If I had practiced with either of these boys, they would have been perfect, if that's what we wanted. By the end of the tour, Erik and I were starting to sound nice together, and that's usually all it takes.

Note: Erik was always really good as was jeff with my songs, just not exactly what i was looking for, and not something I could quite verbalize.)

Other experiences with musicians not knowing my songs have proven to me that if there is any hesitation, I play solo.

26. Find a drink.



Which is what I think I might do right now... ;)

Note. It is Saturday morning now, about 8:30 in the morning, and here in Minneapolis it is snowing. I am very sad. Also I am very poor at the moment, because all of my reserves were used up on the tour. Obviously, I made my choice, yada yada. But I think I may have to temporarily find a part time job... I am recently obsessed with Joanna Newsom. I have only heard one song, "The Sprout and the Bean." If I had extra money, I would go buy the CD "The Milk-Eyed Mender." In fact, I might do so anyway, because I'm in a moment of existential crisis and escaping into another elf-woman's song-world might be just what I need.

My tour diaries are likely colored with my anger and sadness, or at least my anger. I apologize. I am trying to be joyful, but, you know... don't you?

Although I did have a lot of fun yesterday in certain ways. Michael and I watched the second half of "A Christmas Story" together... that's one of my all-time favorite movies, and I've seen it a million times and yet still love it. That voiceover work by Jean Sheperd, the man who wrote the book and who I think is "Ralphie," is priceless. And Peter Billingsly is priceless. And so is Darren McGavin, the father. Seriously? They're all really good.

But now.... on to the Tour Diaries, Part 4.

WHITE EAGLE SALOON
Guests in attendance: Mary Anne Plumb, wonderful girl, and some of her friends.Jo Haemer and her husband Tim.

some sailors

a bunch of other people I don't know.

Mary Anne and I met when I spent a year in Saint Cloud going through treatment for the first time. I was taking some classes at Saint Cloud State University in the meantime, planning to go back to Saint Olaf, or so I was pretending, anyway. I secretly knew I would never go back to that place. No offense, Olies out there in the world. It just wasn't for me. I should have gone to NYU like I wanted to in the first place, and I was extremely stupid to turn down a full ride to one of the greatest film schools in the world. It postponed my film career by about five or ten years, but I cannot do anything about that now. But I did need help. A lot of it. A LOT. It was really great to have my parents help me, and to go through treatment with Judy, my shrink, because she never believed any of my lies, anyway. I don't know what would have happened if I had gone to New York, but I have two thoughts in mind: either I would have risen to the challenge, or I would have drowned in the masses. How dramatic of me. Maybe it would have been a combination of both, which is the human condition, now, isn't it? Didn't Eleanor Roosevelt say, There are only two options. Success, or giving up.

So there I was, at one of the lowest points in my emotional and esoteric life, taking classes I didn't want to take, pretending everything was okay, starting AFED with a girl named Annie in St. Cloud and a bunch of people in Minneapolis... I was taking a creative writing class from the mentor of the first person I ever fell in love with, which was sort of compounding the problems, because I was still in love with him, but now I was also in hate with him. I was also trying desperately to erase all connection to him, romantically, emotionally, and otherwise. And there was Mary Anne! Interesting, funny, friendly, supportive. We became fast friends and despite not having lived near each other for five years now, the connection is still there. She is the biggest sweetheart I know, along with Erin Cronn, of course.

Jo: I met Jo while she was living briefly in Saint Paul. She helped me write "Rains," as a matter of fact- she came up with that really cool G# to em bridge part, really fleshing out the song, one that was most popular (well, to be fair, along with "Dark Place") until Black Butterfly came along. She has these really wonderful tattoos of dragons that circle around her body, and she is a professional guitar player who also does art cars. A great lady, another sweetheart. She and her husband Tim were really cool.

My act, "International Girl," opened the set. Usually I am not nervous, but I was tonight, because I had no idea how people who had mostly come to see a rockabilly/ roots rock show would feel about a weird girl singing cabaret songs in French and Italian, followed by her own weird pop originals- after the jugglers. Oh, well, nothing to do but walk the plank and plunge in!

The stage was set up unfortunately. I had little room to move, to do obscene things with the microphone, to dance... I spilled my glass of wine all over the floor but not (miraculously) on any cables ir gear. Now, the place is famed to be haunted, so I choose to think it was one of the meddlesome ghosts of the Shang Hai/ Brothel era... not my clumsiness or chaotic energy.... tee hee...

We opened with "La Vie En Rose." It's the slowest and the mellowest, but also one the band knew best and one I sing well. It's low and sexy, and by one of my all time heroines, Edith Piaf. Our band on this tour played it too slow, but I could never convince Michael to speed up the tempo. He likes it slow and sexy. That sounds like I'm giving away too much of our personal life, hee hee. Well, he's been a drummer for sixteen years or whatever, so he thinks he knows everything about rhythm. I don't know, maybe he does. Or maybe nobody does. Overall, the first song was a bit uneventful, but that can be okay, too. And that's just my perspective. I have no idea what the audience thought. I did notice that Keith was not in the audience. although Greg and the jugglers were.

My next tune was "Habanera" from Carmen... also known as "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle." Again, the band played it too slow; it should have been a bit more spirited. I don't sing this song in true operatic style, either.... I prefer to muscle it and rock it out a little more, but I do let myself get almost coloratura anytime I sing above D5. Not necessary, since honestly, the highest Habanera goes is High F#, although a few times I brought it higher just to show off, even though the truth is I can go an octave higher than that high F # and so always feel a bit like I'm just being showy wench. Like right now, for example. I do try to always give the moment what it calls for, though, and since Carmen herself is a showy wench, well... it's at least sensical. ;)

People who don't go to opera and some who do always enjoy that piece quite a lot, I think because they've heard it before, it's sexy, and now it's in a context they're more familiar with and therefore more comfortable with. For a lot of people who aren't opera fans, attending a two and a half hour opera might be too much, but seeing bits and pieces of one can be really refreshing. IMO.

My third song was "Bella Ciao." This one is a great segue into my original music because the way I have arranged it, it gets faster and faster until the end is like a weird operatic/folk/flamenco punk song. It's a protest song and I was really feeling the protest that day... in fact, I read somewhere on the internet that people having been singing that song to protest Bush's heinous war in Iraq. I don't want to get any flame emails telling me how terrible Saddam was. I know and I'm glad he's gone. But I am NOT pleased with all the under-reporting of deaths and woundings, especially of the Iraqi people. I am NOT pleased that I have to resort to reading media from Britain and France as well as from the US and Canada to get a more whole picture of what's going on. I am disgusted that people seem to not care about our fellow HUMAN BEINGS, that they are too selfish and hegemonistic and seem to think that their bourgeousie, pedestrian, middle class, consumerist way of life is what everyone else in the should have as well. (I am guilty too. Let me quote the controversial MJ with "I'm starting with the [wo]man in the mirror. I am starting with volunteering at PPMSD two days a month and going 50 % raw, 25 % vegan, and the other 25 % I am dedicating to my tea and chocolate addictions. I am trying, and I do believe a lot of us humans are as well...) I am frustrated with the increasing acceptance of racism, sexism, and jingoism in this nation. I heard Noam Chomsky (say what you will, conservatives, the man is a brilliant and thoughtful scholar) postulate that the sanctions against Iraq did not hurt Saddam, they hurt the people, who had no power to demand that Saddam amend policy, which was the "point" of the Sanctions, supposedly. He suggested that perhaps had they not been impoverished by the sanctions and under terrible financial, health-related, social, emotional, religious and physical stress, they may have been strong enough to rise against Saddam as a people themselves, as has occurred many times in the history of our world. Interesting.

So I put all of that into my song. That might be one of my favorites.

After my first three songs, the jugglers, www.nonamejugglers.com, came out and did their thing. I am telling you, these guys do amazing things. AJ will jump on top of Dan's shoulders and they will juggle separately and then together- while AJ is still on his shoulders. Amazing!

They did about a fifteen minute performance, and the bartender brought the houselights up, since they performed in front of the stage. Michael, Sean, and Erik improvised to their set. That first night the music was really cool. Michael and Sean did this really funky hip hop beat, and then Erik would play some lapsteel, giving it a very cool but eclectic feel. It was nice to hear some hip-hop and funk grooves after being forced to listen to Brooks and Dunn on the journey. (Seriously. Michael and Erik made us listen to this damned tape Erik bought in a gas station like fifteen times. I put my CD player on and listened to a lot of Dandy Warhols instead, especially in honor of being on our way to Portland, but then my headphones broke. Argh!) (Now, I know they are very popular, but by the end of the trip I was so sick of country and western music that I started DISLIKING it VERY MUCH again. I used to say, "I like all kinds of music.... except country." Then, I, like many other silly urbanites, re-discovered Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris. That led me to experiment with Hank Williams, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and eventually, I even listened to Marina McBride because my Mom really liked her. But after this trip, I'm temporarily back to my hater mode when it comes to pop-country, you know, the radio country, slicked up pop we all love to complain about, etc. In fact, a lot of it is so right-wing, conservative, pseudo-Christian, and it makes me laugh with how silly it can get. I always respect my friend Matt Iserman, who is rather conservative, actually quite so, but I like talking to him because he has a thoughtful opinion and facts and ideas to back up his positions. Most of the world I find to be far too propagandistic. Myself too, maybe? Back to the music, though... I will always respect Dolly, and Emmylou, and others who are really really really good. The first time I ever heard Dolly's version of "Stairway to Heaven," I was driving in my car and had to pull over to the side of the road because I was having a moment of enlightement. I felt like I was at a spiritual revival, and although I am USUALLY not interested when people cover standards and therefore might never be able to really satisfy me- this one is as good as the original, but in a different way.)

After the jugglers, I opened with "Pays Sauvage," a song with lyrics in French by my friend Chris Shillock (www.chrisshillock.com) and music by moi. I felt pleased with the band's interpretation. Thanks to Benjamin Crunk who came up with a really cool drum part which Michael played- the song opens with drummer-boy/ revolutionary military drumming on the snare. Erik played a lot of really cool atmospheric sounds on his guitar. One thing I really love about Erik's playing is how tasty he is. He is NEVER over the top or over-playing to make up for anything, like a lot of people might do. He is more likely to underplay a bit, if he is improvising and hasn't yet worked out exactly what parts he is going to play, which has this effect of making people want more. Very tasty, something I want to incorporate more into my own music. Always leave people craving more, right!?

I love Pays Sauvage. As a finished product, it's nowhere near what I want it to be, but I am in love with the lyrics:

Pays sauvage

Ors tu viens dans mon pays,
petit poète, aux yeux étranges
ors tu viens, ors tu poursuis
ta blonde si belle comme un ange.
Ors tu viens à l’air vainqueur,
a pas léger, gagner mon coeur.
Mais si tu viens me faire la cour
Mets toi en garde! avec l‘amour.

L’amour c’est un marais, une piège.
et n’ pouvons pas nous échapper.
L’amour c’est la bataille, la siège.
et je prends pas de prisonniers.

Pour moi l’amour est sans limites.
Pour moi, l’amour c’est a me nuire
mais si jamais tu te hésites
des autres-y-a qui me désirent,
des autres-y-a pour me détruire,
plein des homes trés volontiers.
Et volontiers te ferrais trahir,
te abaisser devant mes pieds.

L’amour c’est un marais, une piège.
et ne pouvons pas nous échapper.
L’amour c’est la bataille, la siège.
et je prends pas de prisonniers.

Arraches mes robes - tout d’un coup.
Déchires toutes mes fines dentelles.
Mords ma chair à dents de loup.
Soie brut, cynique et fort cruel.
Sache comment me faire jouir
à la douceur de la cruauté
Sache comment me faire ravir:
écrase toute ma volonté.

L’amour c’est un marais, une piege.
et ne pouvons pas nous echapper.
L’amour c’est la bataille, la siege.
et je ne prends pas de prisonniers.

L’amour c’est un marais, une piège.
Nous n’ pouvons pas nous échapper.
L’amour c’est la bataille, la siège.
et je n’ prends pas de prisonniers.
-Christopher Shillock

Chris has really done me a huge favor, writing these lyrics. They're wonderful and the tune I worked out became very gypsy, very passionate, very moody, and it goes to dynamic and emotional extremes. I love that I get to combine coyness with passion, rage with wooing, pleading with snobbery.

It feels very me, for better or worse.Finally, I began singing in English. My penultimate song was always "Black Butterfly."
You can hear the demo at:
http://www.everysecretthing.com/muir.htm
It's a rough demo, but it will give you an idea of where I am going with it.

My last song was "K-15." This one is the most rock and roll of the set, another song full of sex and rage. Most of my songs lately have a lot of sex and a lot of rage. That's why I call myself ennui-pop, or female-angst-pop. To qualify it as female, though, is unfair. We all have a lot of sexual rage, especially in this country, hmmm?

And I do mean sexual rage in any and every instance of interpretation.

That completed my set. Vocally, I felt it was okay. In terms of being in the moment, I felt that BC, PS, and BB were best. Overall, I felt alright about it. Neither great nor disappointed. Well, I am always a little disappointed. I ran upstairs to change into a different outfit while Michael and Greg readjusted for Michael's set, which I will relate in my next edition of the Tour Diaries....

Numerologically speaking, I am an 11. In fact, I am a 29-11. I feel I should reward myself with a nap. We'll see. It's bright and sunny outside, and it's also cold and there is some snow left on the ground. THIS is November. One of my favorite months. It's not so cold you want to die just yet.

TOUR DIARIES PART 6.... I think.

Still at the White Eagle Saloon- next up? Michael Quinn and the Virgin Suicides. Well, overall, a sloppy set, but Michael sure was cute. He's got the exact look I love: rock n roller- tall lean, extreme heart and solar plexus and sacral energy, a little rough around the edges at times but utterly suave other times. I also have to say, Michael has great hair. Great hair. Even when it's growing out a little it's awesome. His set was sloppy only because we had had only one rehearsal with a new drummer (who was really good, by the way) and so we were all a little nervous... but overall it was really fine.

I don't remember specific instances from the set any longer, though, especially now that it was almost a month away! I do remember that Michael sold some CDs and then Erik was up next. His set was really good. It was his birthday, after all. How many times can I say that? A billion. It was a lot of fun, and I think afterwards he took off with the sailors to find some girls.

Even though I could have gotten a good night's rest in my own room, for once NOT in the van, I couldn't sleep. I decided to go out into the hallway and wait for one of the ghosts. I had heard of several: a young girl who had been dating the owner back in the 19th century, and in a jealous rage he pushed her down the elevator well... numerous prostitutes and men supposedly shang-haied through trap doors in the bar into the underground tunnels of Portland... men and women who had died in the underground tunnel when it was an opium den and shang hai tunnel.... there were apparently the white prostitutes upstairs and the black and asian prostitutes downstairs.... well, I didn't SEE any ghosts.... at one point it did get very cold very suddenly, and I have seen on a million TV shows that that's a sign that a ghost is around.... I kind of spooked myself a little, but saw nothing with my own eyes. So, who knows? Maybe they didn't want to hang around me, or maybe they were there and I couldn't see them, and maybe they weren't there at all. Much like the answer to that great existential question, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop, the world may never know.

The next morning we all slept in a bit. Not too terribly much, but enough. The jugglers slept at Mary Anne's again, and two of the boys slept in the van. We arose, loaded up gear. I got really nauseous and threw up in the bathroom. The sweet bartender brought me bitters and soda water- it worked! Then we hied over to Mary Anne's, who took us to another restaurant with Elvis on the wall for breakfast/lunch. I stopped in next door at this fabulous little vintage shop- one of my weaknesses- but bought nothing. I hadn't even paid our rent yet, so I couldn't go around justifying 80 bucks for this beautiful fabulous red chiffon and satin dress from the 50s, or these sweeeeeet red leather cowgirl boots, or a fabulous suede coat..... even though I really, really, really wanted to.

After lunch, we went to fix the juggler's car, and then it was time to head up to Seattle, where we met MELISSA THIRY at her apartment.

ABOUT MELISSA
Melissa is a former roommate of mine. We shared the greatest house at 2421 Girard Ave South Minneapolis, MN one year. OH MY GOD it was gorgeous. We had the middle floor of this Victorian with stained glass windows, hardwood floors, and a front and back porch. My room was the Mandarin Room, because of the color of the walls.... I forget what the other rooms were called.... ivory tower and lavendar lounge? Or something like that.... at first we shared with Cindy, my other girlfriend who lives in Seattle now, and then with Erika, one of my best girlfriends of all time. That first summer was fabulous- I think I had just turned 21- I can't remember for sure, though. I could climb through my window on to the porch, which was 2/3 screened in by windows whose mesh was so tight the rain couldn't get in. My boyfriend at the time, Justin, and I used to pull a futon mattress out onto the porch and sleep there in the summer. It was beautiful.
More about Melissa and Seattle in my next edition of the Tour Diaries!!!!!
xoxo

Erin

Here's a little game. Melissa in 5 minutes.
Maybe I shouldn't put her last name in here? Well, nothing too shocking. Just funny stuff.

Melissa and I used to love to walk over to the CC Club. She's a bit on the crazy side. In a very very very fun way. One year for Halloween, the year Justin stood me up and went to this party without me but with my cell phone so I could call him, find out where the party was.... but he turned off the phone until about 3 am, when he had the audacity to call me and ask if I was coming over.... jerk.... and he had paid for my damn costume! And a beautiful costume it was, Carmen Miranda, complete with fruit headdress.... Melissa played a crazy person. In fact, she had been doing these brainwave tests at her work and had one of the skull caps with holes all over it everywhere, where you would put the electrodes or whatever, and she had pulled locks of her hair through some of the holes. Then she had put on her PJS and voila! Add a little bit of her own personality, and there you have crazy Melissa.

Melissa was in love with a local singer songwriter for the longest time. I will not reveal his name. However, I did end up in a yoga class with him where the instructor was constantly fumbling his name, which, by the way, is only two syllables, and not that exotic. Melissa had moved to Seattle by this point so she couldn't come meet him.

OH NO my five minutes is over. Well I will reveal the even more exciting details about Melissa a little later. In my remaining few moments before I must go to work I wish to talk about the Dickel Gang.

Now, you gotta understand that by this point we had all been pretty fine and high on the Dickel. Not so much me because whiskey is a tough one on my sensitive little palate... but I had had my share, too. Upon reflection in combination with said George Dickel, we realized that our true calling and our true identities were actually as part of the George Dickel Traveling Road show, and we was all descendants of said George Dickel.

OUR DICKEL IDENTITIES
Neptunegirl: Scarlett Dickel
Michael: Huckleberry Dickel
Sean: "Big Dick" Dickel
Erik: Babyface Dickel
Greg: Wolfman Dickel
Keith: Birdshot Dickel
Dan: "EZ" Grider Dickel
AJ: Aloysius Jones Dickel

Our guest Dickels:
Melissa: Emerald Skye Dickel... not considered a prostitute in any state in the union.
Except Alabama.
Another Dickel was to join the gang a little later, but I'll leave you in suspense now....

And thus, the Dickel gang arrived in the great city of Seattle, driving round and round the space needle until we found a place to park the van and trailer. The jugglers arrived shortly thereafter and we settled into Melissa's abode.

It was there, while coloring an oil painting that we all had to share in ('twas customary around Melissa's parts) that she named herself Emerald Skye Dickel, and the jugglers received their names, and so there we were.

Off to a bar near Melissa's home for karaoke, where only the brave went singing- then it was time to crash.

The next day we performed various tasks and activities. I went off to have lunch with my friend Cindy and her boyfriend Matt at a Thai place near the University. While the food was great, I believe I had the Thaiger noodles, it wasn't as good as my favorite, Chiang Mai Thai, here in Minneapolis.... but it was tasty. It had a kind of furry aftertaste? Maybe it was my mood. Cindy and Michael and I did the "quintessential Seattle tourist activity" and went down to the Pike St Market, wandering about, looking at the fish.

After, those poor Dickel boys were replacing the U-Joint. Now, it had to go. They called around about parts, and got downright dirty underneath the van. About 4 pm it began to look hopeless. About 5 pm it looked downright scary. Where would we find the part!? Aha! Babyface and Huckleberry found the part at a parts store nearby that was open until 6 pm. Saved in the nick of time, but of course, they still had to muscle the part in! Birdshot Dickel got a black eye when the old U Joint fell eerily against his eye, a wound he nursed the rest of the trip. But soon it was complete, and safe and secure, the gang bathed and perfumed and maintained other elements of toiletry before whisking away to our next gig:

The Comet Tavern in downtown Seattle.

The Comet Tavern is, according to some, where the rock stars of Seattle spend their time, and I can see why. I remember reddish orange walls, a great bar staff, interesting deco and pool tables in a back room.... Erik had to park the van about a mile away after we unloaded.... the place attracted more and more people as we were setting up on stage, and the sound man, Joe, was a most excellent host.

MaryAnne from Portland had traveled up to see the show with us! She, along with Cindy, Matt, and about a dozen of their friends, were waiting for us at the Comet.

One of the posters I had sent, featuring a picture of me with a guitar, and a few other pictures of me, advertising "International Girl," had been grafittied.... it made me kind of happy, actually, because it meant someone cared enough to write "Look at me! Look at me! Don't I look cute with my guitar? Don't I" on it. I wish I had stolen that particular poster! But I did not take what was now the bar's property (which I'm sure they threw away later anyway.) I have an odd thing about me where I really like it when people feel notoriously about me. This poster obviously hit some nerves in someone.... I hoped they were. I never found out, though.

I think we were all feeling a little stronger since our last gig, more sobered (although some of us not so by the next morning!), that we had something to prove to ourselves.... and yet I was filling giddy and silly. I enjoyed Seattle. I was ready to have some fun, damnit.

Our first song, began, La Vie En Rose, and I felt the swelling within whenever I hit the stage....

There was not special lighting, I know, but somehow in my mind it felt as if there was. The sound was very good and the crowd seemed a bit.... bizarre.... during that first song... as if I was not what they expected and vice versa.... but they seemed to like it.... at least no one yelled "Show us your tits!" Like someone did at almost every bar in Montana later in the tour... but I was too harsh on myself... after that first number, there was silence for a second, and then a loud applause. Okay, then! We'll go on this way. I performed my set, and it was fun for me to sing for Cindy, Melissa, and Mary Anne, because Mary Anne had missed me the night before and so none of them had actually heard me sing.

The rest of my set went off without a hitch. The jugglers came up and wowed the crowd. They were doing some acrobatic things and I saw at least two cameras go off. People were crowded around the door of the pool table room to see what was going on. Although Seattle certainly shared that too-cool-for-school element that Minneapolis/ St. Paul shares, they seemed to generally know how to have a great time and let go in the face of fun. (I won't mention what happens in MN around fun... ever been to a clown's funeral?) I have to say over and over again.... those jugglers are fabulous! Funny, cute, talented, amazing. I love them! I wish they were a part of every show, even controversial ones like tours. Unfortunately, AJ, who had "forgotten" his ID at home, had to wait outside in the cold before their set and had to leave almost immediately thereafter... so they left right after the set and returned to Melissa's. Or I don't know, they may have gone off somewhere fun, too.

Michael's set was next. We got the crowd dancing- on originals! Melissa had had the CD for a while, and she really liked it. I kept dancing despite having wardrobe malfunctions. My shirt kept slipping down- never exposing me, but I was so embarrassed that I had to keep pulling it up! Every gig thereafter that I wore the bustier, I used duct tape to keep it in place. Although mostly thereafter I wore the denim dress with red and white sleeves- the Frenchy one from that great little boutique, Cliche, on Lyndale Ave in Minneapolis. This evening, though, I wore a pinstriped bustier, a mid-calf length red satiny skirt with a lace underlay that was fitted until my knees and then swung out, a little black belt, my black pointy dance shows, and a red and red and black polka dotted feather flower in my hair. (Witness the photos in the gallery at www.everysecretthing.com/quinn .)

Erik and Greg did especially nice jobs on Michael's songs. Of course Sean was fabulous, but he's always great. He's alway right there, always doing something really cool or very tasty. There was a little more jamming than usual, I think we were all felling a little footloose, and Michael's best song (in my opinion) of the set was Country Girls. I don't remember the set exact, but I believe it was: Attitude, Pandora's Box, Barbie, Virgin Suicides, Country Girls, Three Rings, Can't Ya Hear me Knockin, Mercury Blues.

Michael sold a bunch of CDs and then it was Erik's turn. He put on a very rock and roll version of his show. I love that he has so much versatility with his songs. Again, we had some dancing, not as much, but a lot of thoughtful listening as well. He did one of this tour's best versions of the Tom Waits song, Heart Attack And Vine.

The attendance thinned out toward 2 am, as the bar was nearing close.... but the bartenders tipped us after we tipped them! They enjoyed the show. Some people said some interesting things, that it was nice to hear music with a melody (the place must feature a lot more guitar oriented rock) and the funniest thing we heard was "great music! Real music! Not like the Seattle posers we get around here!" I thought that Seattle must not be too far from Mpls-St Paul in terms of disgruntled audience members after all. The sound guy was very cool, and we wrapped it up and got out of there. Michael and Erik even kept their fight short- as they did fight kind of regularly. (A Taurus and A Scorpio both trying to be in charge? Yikes...)

Late that night we attempted to find a late night food outlet that would seat us... but at 3 am, with an hour wait everywhere we went, we just headed home, ate some cold pizza, and crashed!

Stay tuned for Part 9.... Spokane......

...and so it was, mostly a journey of revelry and mirth with frustrations and hopes dashed in between times. We could not have predicted how things would twist and turn as the universe likes to keep humans- travelers especially- on their toes. Do little and the universe responds in kind. Do much, and receive results on a grander proportion.

Saturday November 6th, we awoke at Melissa's and departed from Seattle on our way to Spokane. The drive was, of course, beautiful. Until we hit the cowboy looking lands, then only Erik seemed to truly appreciate what was outside. Born into the wrong generation, perhaps. I tend to think we choose our generations for a reason, but then again there's no reason that one might not have made a mistake.

Spokane: The Boulevard. A nice, big club, with great sound a great sound man. The crowd was appreciative and, I might say.... extraordinarily good looking! I haven't seen so many beautiful people all in one place since my years at Saint Olaf. We followed the usual format: International Girl, jugglers (and, as usual, poor AJ had to return to the hotel post set.), International Girl again, Michael Quinn and the Virgin Suicides, and Erik Koskinen. On the last gig we had fun, on this gig, we were all starting to come into our own.

Sunday, November 7th: what to do with ourselves? We had until Wednesday to be in Bozeman, MT. Hmmmm...... we thought.... but not long.... after all, Wolfman Dickel, diiiiiiid work at Yellowstone for several years.... aha!

We stayed that first night at Keith's dear dear Aunt and Uncle's just north of Anaconda, MT. They have a beautiful log cabin built by Uncle Walt (I think?) himself- out in the country where we hiked up into the mountains a bit.

The next day we headed into Gardiner, MT, at the entrance to Yellowstone. We arrived about 8 pm to the pizza place..... and then the adventures ensued....

check them out next time in installment 10.

Gardiner, Montana. Our first night was one of, course, drinking. Julianne and Fred were our gracious hosts, and we also spent time with Carrie and Shaney. Shaney looked really familiar, by the way. I could never figure out where from, but there she was. We returned late to the Fred and Juliane's house, across the street from what was Yellowstone.

Tuesday morning, we woke up late, most of us. I got up early and went for a walk. I was amazed at how many people pulled over and asked if I needed help. I guess they don't see strange girls walking alone in the park that early in the morning? or maybe they thought I was escaping from the religious cult that lives on a compound half a mile from Fred and Juliane. PS I am personally extra fearful of cults. I don't think I could ever be in one, but all humans have a breaking point, right?

The group split up a bit later that day. Some went into town for breakfast, and some stayed back. The rest of the tour was to feature a lot of such things. Michael and I mostly ate food from the grocery store to try and save on cash. When you're poor, you do what you must! Well, you do what you must no matter what your financial status, I guess, but one nice thing about being affluent (it's been a while, but I was once!) is being able to do what you like in addition to what you must. That's not fair though, I usually do almost exactly as I please. Just on a budget.

That morning, Michael, Aj and Dan and I walked down to the river gulch where there a family of otters were making their home. The sage smelled so beautiful. The skies were so blue (just like the song) and I wanted it to swallow me up whole, forever, in that heat and blue and sun and sage.

In the afternoon, Greg took me, Michael, Gardiner local favorite Carrie, Dan, AJ, and Sean to the boiling river. The boiling river is inside Yellowstone Park. You park, walk down maybe a third of a mile to a place where hot springs feed into the cold water of the river. Then you wade in, find a spot, and relax. I imagined it was rich in minerals, but I also know they have found certain bacteria that are linked to meningitis in the river. Greg and Carrie both assured me there were no known cases of such, however. We at in there for about an hour! It was the most relaxed I had been in weeks.

That evening we all made dinner with Fred and Julianne. We drank a lot, and played a lot of music. I crashed out a bit early. Dear Fred (aka Jedediah Dickel) stayed up verrrrrrry late but then had to arise at 5 the next morning to be off to attend a wilderness medicine class. Both Fred and Juliana are guides at the park. Julianne does really cool things, like take people on over night guided ski trips. PS I have never gone downhill skiing. As a girl, we would go cross country skiing but even that has been a while. Fred, in addition to working for the park, runs a recording studio.

We were all properly horrified by the elections, too, by the way.

Wednesday morning we bummed around for a few hours before heading to Bozeman. We were going to have to rent a new bass head for Sean, as his was having all sorts of problems. So we had to make a million errands and had some fun in the music store for a while. We also popped over to one on Montana's many brew pubs where they were having happy hour. Ah, the glorious thing that is happy hour. Oatmeal stout for 2.50. Wahoo!

That evening we played to a small but very beautiful and appreciative crowd at the Filling Station in Bozeman. A few highlights (and for me, an especially high and an especially low):

First of all, Sean's rented bass head was ALSO not working. So we had to call another friend of a friend, who came down with his, fixed the problem, and let us rent his for the rest of the week. He worked at Les Paul making guitars by day, so Erik was thrilled.

Next, I got one of my first really awful comments of the tour. So far, everyone had been totally cool and respectful. Now, I am sure in a way this fellow was trying to be complimentary, but really, it was just gross.

I was unwinding cables to plug the instruments in. (Yeah, I know, how unglamorous. I was not only a singer, dancer, guitarist, but also a tech, a roadie, and sometimes, my own groupie. But never mind about that. This is a public journal so I'm not getting into the dirty details. ;) )A local guy, maybe in his 40s or early 50s sauntered to me. Definitely a cowboy. He had the thick mustache reminiscent of Tom Selleck and tanned and slightly leather skin. He work blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather jacket over a flannel shirt.

"Excuse me," he said. "Could you do me a favor?"

Now, I learned long ago never to simply agree to do a favor for someone. ALWAYS find out what it is first.

And so,

"What is it?" I asked.

"You see that pinball machine over there?" He pointed to a rickety old machine in the opposite corner of the bar from the stage. "Could you go over there and walk from the pinball machine to the stage? That way I can watch. I was watching earlier and I really liked what I saw. I really liked your..." he trailed off and and made the stereotypical "curves" motion with his hands, reinforcing by bouncing his hands forward and back and staring into the space where, I imagined, he was imagining where my ass would be.

I laughed. What a jerk.

"I don't think so," I responded. I stared at him for a second and then went back to unwinding cables.

He snapped his fingers."Awww, shucks."

Seriously. That's what he said.

Let's rewind the tape.vvvvvvvvvp!

"Awww, shucks."

yeah, I guess so.

Julianne brought to Gardiner-ites to the show: Deb, a fellow singer and pianist, and Shawna, a petite sweetheart who also worked for Yellowstone.

I also met Shawn Mitzel of Bar Nothing Films, who is producing a film he wrote entitled "Living Stoned." We are connected through MYSpace and he is a very cool guy. He and Tony, also a musician with a vision, danced and were generally great guys. He approached me about being a singer in the film, french sultry style, character somewhat reminiscent of Isabella Rosallini in Blue Velvet. Um, yes!!!
http://www.livejournal.com/users/livingstoned/
is his livejournal but I see he has nothing up at the moment.

More coming later about our next gig, back and forth we would go over the next few days through Montana......