Bad Advice Tour 2008
Day 8: Friday, October 17, 2008
Plainville, Barrington, Philadelphia, Camden, Haddon Heights
For a few months in advance of this trip I had a house concert booked in Boston. It was a fan who had offered to host me and Kate in her living room. I only knew her through email. But, she assured me that she could get 20 or more people and a $15 donation from each. That works and can help with the finances for making sure the airfare (Kate's trip from Seattle) and travel costs are covered on our 16-day trip. Kate also had a house concert booked in Boston with a friend of hers with a similar setup and expected audience size. So, we had our middle weekend planned for the trip with two house concerts that would be a substantial amount of the income we had counted on for the trip - - about 1/3 of our estimated total.
About six weeks ahead of the date, Kate's house concert host backed out. Flights booked, tour planned and a date is cancelled. It happens. And, it was too late to really scramble for another date. And, since Kate is new to the area, and I'm basically not in the business of booking shows at the moment, neither of us had (1) the leads to fill in the date or (2) the motivation to work hard at finding a replacement date.
So, once house concert cancelled. Then about a month before the date, I emailed my house concert host. She didn't respond. As I didn't know my host that well, I tried to get assurance that the concert was happening and would be a success as planned with a full room of over twenty guests. I offered in my email to help her with ideas on how to spread the information about the show. And, in this case, I also insisted the word be spread privately not with public broad-reaching publicity or promotion. I didn't hear back from my host. I emailed again a week later, no word. I emailed less than two weeks from the date and simply asked for an update on RSVPs and an address. No word. So, I had considered the date cancelled.
So here we are waking up Friday morning in Plainville, CT. Since we had the weekend open now, we planned on going home to my place near Philadelphia. Actually we were considering the idea of visiting a friend of Kate's in New York City. The friend seemed to be open to helping us find a floor to sleep on. He offered the basement of an art studio in SoHo as long as we were out early enough to not leave any signs of being there. But, as it turned out Kate's friend wouldn't be able to visit with us and go out on the town. We kicked around ideas and neither Kate nor I was ready to make the decisive decision to stay in NYC. We didn't have a plan of what to do going out to have fun, and neither of us was ready to make those plans. I felt that we could hit NYC for a day or two and have fun, but that I could take it or leave it. Without the full motivation from either of us to tackle NYC, we decided to head all the way back to Haddon Heights, NJ and stay at my place near Philadelphia.
Plans made, open weekend, and making a day trip back from Plainville to Philadelphia. We were gonna leave early to get past New York City before afternoon weekend traffic. And, even to get home to my place in time to deal with a post office issue before the weekend. A significant mailing of 200 packages with six CDs in each was being held up at the post office from my Hudson Harding Music Folk Radio Distribution service. A cause of serious stress, and a hangup that I'd be happy to deal with, put to rest, and get those CDs out across the U.S., Canada and beyond.
Wouldn't you know it, my AWOL haven't-heard-from house concert host drops me an email Friday morning 36 hours before the show ignoring my previous requests for contact and giving an address and a "we look forward to seeing you' note. But, also, there was fear she expressed that the show may not be well attended because the Red Sox had a game to play that night. This was due to the miraculous comeback by the home team in an elimination game just the night before. I offered my host, back in July when we set the date, that *IF* it turned out the Red Sox had a playoff run that took them to the League Championship Series we would work around the time of the game so as to not conflict with those who wanted to see the game. Anyway, I emailed back, with the fate of the concert in limbo, and our bags and car packed for trip to Jersey. No response. I searched the Internet and found her workplace and a number. I asked Kate and she said I should go ahead and call that number. I did, but the receptionist couldn't locate her. We figured we'd wait 'til 1 p.m. and then leave if we didn't hear from the concert host. She finally calls at 12:30 and with just a short conversation I was able to see that she was more than ready to pull the plug and cancel the show. I didn't want to twist her arm to do otherwise, and didn't want to wait around another day and a half to find out that the show would be a failure. So, we cancelled, and I expressed my disappointment that we hadn't been able to keep in closer touch and also that the "hit," while not a huge amount of income loss in the grand scheme of things, was hard for poor travelin' artists to absorb.
I get off the phone and we head south for the four to five hour drive. Too late to avoid traffic, and too late to get home in time to get to the post office. But, not too late to get home and go to my fave local coffeehouse to hear my friend Caleb Hawley play songs for a small but enthusiastic bunch of folks. Caleb is a 'freak of nature' kind of guitarist and singer, not too unlike Martin Sexton. He's a 23-year old kid with a shaggy beard and long hair and singing and playing chops that amaze. Kate and I know Caleb from the Rocky Mountain Folks Fest gathering in Colorado. And, Caleb's sister is Rachel.
After the show Kate and I go into Philadelphia, just five miles away over the Walt Whitman Bridge. We drive up Broad Street from the sports complex at I-76. Block by block through a couple dozen lights in South Philly, we head towards Spruce and 12th. I get a nice parking spot as a car is just pulling out. Nice! We're feelin' pretty good getting out into the bustling night scene in Center City. We wander into a bar, grab a beer, hang, do some people watching, talk about everything and nothing at all, get the urge for wandering and head out. We walk up 13th and see a sign down a side street that says "karaoke tonight" and Kate says let's go there.
I follow and we work our way into a crowded bar full with long tables and full of people and Kate goes to sign up to sing "Little Red Corvette" by Prince. We get two seats at the bar and sit half turned away from the packed bar and order a couple beers. Taking in the sights, having a chat, meeting the couple next to us at the bar. Kate gets her chance and sings her song following pretty women singing poorly to some song or another, and a real hot shot guy who gives a real good shot at "Bohemian Rhapsody." Then Kate at the mic and holy crap! Do you know the lyrics of "Little Red Corvette?" That Prince can write some nasty shit. Kate sings well, dressed in her orange top, wearing a knitted hat, and baggy hippy pants.
Kate makes her way back across the crowded room to the bar. Where preceding her is a short, cute, flirty drunk girl who's making eyes at me. Kate comes in and doesn't see the flirty eye contact going on and sits next to me, in between me and flirty fun girl. So, I try to not lose the flirty girl who eventually says, "You're smiling a lot." Kate, catching on says, "You make him smile," and continues, "I'm his sister." I say leaning across Kate to flirty cute girl, "I just want to be clear; I'm smiling because you are here." I can fly solo on this one, thanks Kate.
Well, cute girl goes on her way but later returns, this time with two friends. Both stylish, attractive and young. One is blonde, one brunette. The blonde leans in a little as if to get closer to the bar to order a drink. I'm feeling bold and make some dumb comment trying to be funny and flirty and break the ice. Hot blonde chick didn't laugh at my joke and gave a snobby "whatever" look. Oh well, I wasn't gonna let it get me down as all I'm doing is trying to be fun. She stays at the back of my stool with her two friends, and I have my arm on the back of the stool, I'm half turned to the crowd away from the bar when it becomes obvious that she's pressing her nice boobs against my arm. I think maybe I should move my arm, but don't. It's noisy and near impossible to keep conversation and hot, blonde, boob girl doesn't order a drink and eventually steps aside enough for me to notice pretty, stylish, young, brunette girl. This time Kate and I are able to strike up conversation and when Kate asks advice on local scene our new friend is up to the task with enthusiasm talking about this place and that and Olde City fancy, and rustic dives and the lack of an in between. Kate and I are both impressed by our pretty new friend who seems more together than short, cute, drunk girl with desperate eyes. She also is more personable than hot, young, snob, blonde chick.
Kate and I are getting ready to hit the door and make on to our next as-of-yet undetermined stop. And, we overhear entitled, snob, blonde girl say to drunk, horny girl and our pretty, cool, brunette friend, "Let's go to the end of the bar where those boys are and see if they'll buy us something." Somehow among the noise both Kate and I hear this clearly. What a laugh! All's fair.
We head out the door and make our way back towards our car maybe gonna call it a night. Then, instead we stop in again at the bar we started the night at as we both spot a group of cool people going in there. It's only slightly more lively. We get a beer. Kate goes to use the bathroom. Comes back and says she found were the cool people are hanging out. We go upstairs and enter the dancing room with the disco ball, the dance floor, and the body to body crowd that is getting their groove on. We push our way through to the bar and head to the end at the far corner where, indeed, the cool people from the sidewalk are hanging out being cool.
We order another drink. And, sit there with short phrase conversation shouting into each other's ears. And, we watch with our backs to the bar. Then, some really short stocky guy comes over and asks Kate to dance. She says yes. They attempt to get their groove going, but mostly laugh and step on each other's feet. The guy is a little over-friendly, and I figure Kate can take care of herself and I look on and laugh as the guy's friend strikes up conversation with me at the bar. Kate didn't make it through one song before she comes off with her new friend laughing and we hang at the bar and talk about where they're from in Massachusetts and what they do as lawyers. And, we talk about where we are from in Seattle and over the bridge in Jersey. And, Kate goes to use the woman's room, and a cute girl asks me if I smoke, and I say no. And, we stand next to each other looking at opposite angles with our shoulders nearly hitting. And, I wish she'd turn back and ask something else. But, she doesn't and I try to ask her something and she is courteous enough but has her eyes targeted elsewhere. Kate comes back and it's time to go. I walk slowly to the door and watch cute girl from bar in her sparkly sweater, skinny jeans and boots. She's now on the dance floor letting herself kick into the aggressive groove of a Pink song with a guy in a wife beater sleeveless t-shirt, a cool retro haircut, jeans and boots.
We go downstairs, out the door, back to 13th and turn right and walk south. I expect I'll see my car in that great spot we got earlier, but as always we're chatting away and I'm distracted. We go past Spruce, Locust, and closer to South when I say we weren't this far down. We walk back up the street north a couple blocks with a little more concentration. Kate says we're back that way, so we turn around again and head back south and go a little further this time. And, I say we're not this far down. So we turn around again and walk back up the street on the other side and this time we're silent, and Kate says, "Is that it?" Then, "Is that it?" And, I say, "Kate. I know my car, I'll see it." And, Kate's walking fast like back in Portland the first night uphill to Congress Street. And, I'm trying to keep regular pace. And we walk all the way back to where a full block of street doesn't have any cars on the side that we parked. And, I kind of remember we parked there. And, start reading signs, and the one says no parking after midnight. And, I realize my car's been towed. I tell Kate our car's been towed. And, take a breath. And, I see a cop car and walk up cautiously to the open window and say, "Excuse me can you tell me where cars go when they're towed?" He says to the City Lot in South Philly. I wave over the next cab and say, "Our car's been towed, please take us to the City Lot in South Philly. And, we don't talk in the backseat.
It's late. It's been a long day since waking up in Plainville, CT wondering if we were gonna hang around for the house concert the next night. And, we sit in the back of the cab in silence. It's the only 15-minute stint of silence in a car or otherwise so far on our trip. And, we get close to the lot and I reach in my pocket for cab fare, and Kate says, "I'll pay this." And, I say, in a voice with a little calm authority. "Kate. I got this. And, I don't want to discuss it." I paid the $15 fare, went in to talk to the woman through the glass, paid the towing fee of $125 and took my paper work to the next window and said my insurance and registration cards are in the car. I got an escorted walk into the lot for my documents, and a walk back to the window. My man meticulously and methodically did the paper work, by hand, with one form after another and staple here and staple there, and remove staple from the paper that I got just a few minutes ago from window number 1. And, he hands over the paper work and my ticket for the parking violation. I move back to the money window, window number 1, and pay my $31 ticket and meet Kate outside puffing a cigarette in the cold 3 a.m. night outside the lot in South Philly nearly under the Walt Whitman Bridge. I get the car, come out the automatic door opening gated lot and have a nice laugh with the lot attendant. And, we're off.
Kate says she's impressed with how I handled that and how most men would react violently mad and yelling and swearing. I take that as a compliment and not a dent to my manhood.
I get on I-95 the wrong way heading north and go up to the Ben Franklin Bridge and over to Jersey and head back south on the other side of the Delaware River and I ask Kate if she wants to drive through Camden and see the sights. And, as usual Kate is game. And we drive the entire stretch of Broadway and see the hookers, and drug dealers, and night crawlers, and open doors into darkness, and abandoned houses and boarded up businesses, and the night people creeping in and out of the cracks. We go block to block, stop at lights and if we make eye contact with the cracked out hooker, or the bicycling guy, or the young chicky mamas walking by, they are all over the blue Honda Civic with the two white folks. Offering anything we could possible want. We head over to Mt. Ephraim Road and I see a whacked out guy taking a roundhouse swing at a shadow in the alley, and it's a woman, and they're fighting. And, we turn around and head the other way on the Black Horse Pike and drive out of town, somehow wide awake at nearly 4 a.m. And, then, I turn left on Prospect Ridge across from the retro Mickey D's and Kate says, "Wait, we're home!" We were now driving down the old road lined with old charming houses, and droopy fall trees hanging over the street, and a park on the left, and I say, "Yes, I live just three miles from Camden." Kate said she was expecting to get on a road, or interstate or something and drive 20 minutes to my place. But, Haddon Heights, and Haddonfield, and Collingswood are all charming old nice towns that are just a short ride from Camden.
We're talking about the guy and his girl fighting. And, we talk about how people wind up there. At the lowest of the low. In the gutter. And, talk about forgiveness. And, how we need compassion for the things people do, and the weaknesses they have, and the places they end up. How love and grace and humility, and human kindness is about that: forgiveness. Forgiving entitled, blonde, snobby, boob girl. Forgiving friends, and not friends. And, then I say I don't think we should hang anyone including Saddam Hussein. And, everyone is capable of redemption and what human being has the right to terminate another human being and be the one to put out that light. And, Kate says we need to forgive George Bush too. And, we laugh out loud!
We roll into my driveway, go in the back door which has been left unlocked since we left eight days ago. I slip into bed, Kate takes the cushions from the sofa and makes her bed, and we rest.
- - - - - Erik