Sinister: jessica & ahren up a tree / the streets of philadelphia

[gateau du wizz]

hello - this is quite epic....

firstly, a few weeks ago i posted to the list looking forward to
meeting jessica (of which there seemed to be many many
listees)....finally the correct jessica came to the fore:

*******************************************************
"the last thing: a crushboy update. ahren has brokoen up with his
girlfriend (yay!) but is a big commitment-phobe due to her excessive
clinginess. i
still feel a fire in my loins when we speak. and tonight at work, i
just couldn't stop touching him (oh god, how pathetic)..."
- Blissxo at aol.com, Tue, 3 Nov 1998 23:06:45 EST
*******************************************************

aha!  this is the jessica!!  and ahren!!  the jessica i had hoped to
meet in philly but i have yet to tell my sorry tale of planes, rental
cars and boo-hiss no-play bands....i knew i was not going mad.  but
this jessica is probably not from philly anyhow....lady p just got her
wires crossed.

i think i am finally in good enough condition to share my philadelphia
experience with you my fellow listees.

jamie cola and i attempted to get to london heathrow in good time to
catch our flight to new york....anyhow, the tube broke down at acton
town and we were left sitting on the platform eating our curds and
whey, smoking cigarettes for up on thirty minutes until we decided we
were tempting fate and so arose from our arses and defiantly left the
platform in favour of the street where we hoped to hail a cab to see
us back on our way.  alas!  every cab had been taken and none of the
local cab firms would have one for quite some time...stressed out and
panicing we eventually convinced some halfwit to drive us to terminal
three (that was the title of the irish runner up entry in the 1984
eurovision song contest eurotrash kids!) and we boarded our plane
bound for new york city!!  oooh the excitement was mounting....we had
arranged to meet up with jamie cola's mysterious lover, fopstar, and
the lovely t-bone & desirable specialagent (all of whom had flown in
from san francisco) in new york city that very evening.

we landed in nu yuk and caught ourselves a cab into manhattan.  the
driver was all into us being there getting kicks and, when approaching
the queensboro bridge (absolutely *NO* tunnels mister!!,) he asked if
we wanted to hear an authentic american "rawk station".  of course
mister cola and i collapsed on the torn leatherette seating in a fit
of giggles as the first "rawk" toon to grace our eardrums was none
other than "where the streets have no name"....manhattan skyline was
pure magic - we were reminded of a movie scene for each of the
twinkling lights we saw, we let the windows down and took some photos
at fifty miles per hour, our heads dangerously close to decapitation
but careless and high on the smell of a new town and the expectation
of so much.

we partied until four or five first at some awful venue with a cute
punk outfit performing then onto some bar where we drank and we smoked
and called out each others names over the swing din and buzz of
laughter and conversation.  and outside in the cold clear dry night.

on thursday morning i was harassed telephonically by my host's room
mate, a mister van d, who had a thing for irish boys.  threatening to
"come home and ravage me" was i am sure was only a half serious
threat, one which excited me as mister van d was, as they say, "easy
on the eye, sharp as a bobby pin".  before any such catastrophe
occurred i was rescued by mssrs cola and fopstar who picked me up fom
my chelsea pad in search of nourishment both culturally and
gastronomically.  in search of the quintessential new york bagel
(yeah!! america!!) we found ourselves instead in a random gourmet
situation where we savoured the delights of dining al fresco beneath
the warm glow of heat umbrellas in the garden of a quirky greenwich
restaurant where one might expect to see the chef take a butcher knife
to the maitre d'.  afterwards we headed over to little italy in a vain
attempt to intercept specialagent and t-bone at chez bigben but
instead were distracted by endless purchase scenarios (america!!!
consumer heaven!!!) and keanu reeves sightings on broome street.

that night the fantabulous host j glammed it up with lady penelope and
h at the chelsea pad prior to hitting the wonderful *surface magazine
party held on the eighteenth floor of a warehouse a few streets away
on the chelsea piers to be hosted by none other than fopstar (among
others).  carriage to the eighteenth floor was via industrial elevator
where perhaps one hundred revellers huddled together as if
annihillation were imminent. vodka flowed like evian once inside,
flashbulbs, drinks, schmoozing, design speak, invitations to further
events were issued, manhattan portage bags EVERYWHERE (sick of them),
flashbulbs, specialagent paying lady penelope the attention she
deserved...ah memories:  but dawhlings, is it fair to have given us
the memory of what was, the expectation of what could be when we must
suffer what is? *sigh* a select few returned to the chelsea landing
strip and then onward we ventured for sushi and drinks where
eventually the crowd dispersed leaving only specialagent and lady
penelope conversing intensively with abandon.  crossing the street and
stumbling into another all-night bar (yeah!!  america!!) drinking
belgian beers, telling truths and smoking much too much.

the following morning i phoned mister quentin crisp and asked him to
have sunday lunch with me a few days later.  we agreed to meet at a
diner in the east village.  I then went off to greenwich to have lunch
with fellow listees babyblu rory and the lovely linda in moustache
where i indulged in bland falaffal and could not even have a
cigarette...bah! america!!  to ease my mind of worry the lovely
specialagent and divine t-bone walked into the establishment much to
my delight and amusement.

at three o'clock i arose and ventured - alone - to thirty-fourth
street to pick up our rental car / Belle & Sebastian philadelphia
shuttle and signed the papers.  once seated in what, to most americans
would be you average station wagon but, to lady penelope was a FOOKING
MONSTER and i instantly had the fear.  we were going to die in this
machine with the gears on the steering wheel column (did you ever hear
the like????), MISS belle & sebastian and be headline news within
hours: "five kids die in pop-frenzy carnage - clueless irish driver
blamed".  i quickly jumped from the car and demanded that one of the
overall sporting "officials" give me a quick once over with the
MONSTER. hand brake didn't exist, steering wheel on wrong side, doors
automatically locked when the car was in gear (sinister - you ain't
going nowhere baby)....debacle.  however, i rose to the challenge and
managed to navigate my way through midtown manhattan with a bead upon
my brow with the help of the following mantra: "must see belle &
sebastian, will see belle & sebastian".  I got to the chelsea pad
where mssrs fopstar and cola were in attendance and we were soon
graced with the presence of the dawhling specialagent.  plans to pick
up the remaining member of the entourage, tiffany, from brooklyn were
abandoned when it was disclosed that she was, as we spoke, venturing
towards manhattan in a cab.  and so it was at a service station on the
corner of tenth avenue and twenty third street that we planned our
route to philly with the help of a new york road map.  Finally at six
thirty tiffany appeared and we hit the road.  (yeah!! road trip!!). 
lincoln tunnel for what seemed like an age and then open road, fab
toons, road tolls (bah! america!!), some sTRong poot (not indulged in
by the ever cautious driving-like-a-demon lady penelope) and the
lovely specialagent issuing directions as i drove.  the tension was
mounting - five delirious globe-totting bunnies off to see their
favourite band, faces a-glow with spirit, butterfly-tummied in
anticipation.    driving through bon jovi land and getting lost off
the freeway, getting five conflicting sets of directions from a group
of petrol station customers, did an outdoor pee pee thing behind the
petrol station and looked at the orange clay soak up the bubble
bubbles....bought the classiest lighter (miniature corona bottle) -
YAAAAH!  TACKY AMERICA!!!  great stuff.  so we decide to follow one
set of directions provided by one who seemed tooned-in so to speak. 
playing specialagent's mix tape.  tired eyes and blurry headlights. 
boo-hiss! tiffany asleep.  end up in an industrial estate...begin to
lose faith when lo-and-behold THE FREEWAY again!!!  YAAAH!  AMERICA!!

so at this point we're confident that we're going in the right
direction at least; with every sign that said "PHILADELPHIA" a cheer
would errupt from within the FOOKING MONSTER and five kids would be
all a-glow again, heads a bopping, pigtails a-flying.  we drive on
this crazy-ass concrete thing for what seems like an age, ascending
slowly...we realise it's a bridge and, at the moment we reach the
apex, the philadelphia skyline unfolds.   more cheers!  more heads a
bopping, specialagent twiddling on the spaceship dashboard knobs and
we have local radio playing some cheesy pretenders song but we don't
care and our proverbial pigtails fly again.  more poot.  lady penelope
is tempted but decides instead to continue with the steady flow of
parliaments....specialagent lights it for lady penelope and the filter
is moist from his lips when the first drag is taken.  close and
snuggly feelings overcome lady penelope.  jamie cola takes some
pictures...

and then we get lost in the labrynth that is philadelphia to a
clueless irish boy with no downtown map....chaos abound, more
cigarettes.  "need gin, need gin" goes around and around inside the
head of lady penelope.

we find ourselves dangerously close to the venue, we *know* we are
nearby but, instead, we end up on a dead end street lined with cute
houses with verandas decorated for halloweeen a week early.  reminded
me of being in california last christmas where, to me, every house
looked like it was lit up to resemble an airport landing strip.  i
turn the FOOKING MONSTER around and drive to a convenience store where
specialagent jumped from the car and found a heaven-sent divine man
who told us to "follow me" and practically escorted us to the venue. 
nobody seemed to think that by saying the venue was opposite the bus
terminal would help.  landmarks and all.  easily identified landmarks.
 hmmmmmm.   we know we are at the venue because of the enormous line
of indie kids...we must have looked like kerb-crawling belle &
sebastian fans in a station wagon to those of you who were outside
around nine fifteen.  (i forgive you for the stares.)  we parked the
car and dilliberate whether or not to bring our cameras....no is the
general consensus although tiffany decided to hide hers in her smalls.
 heh heh.  we joined the masses outside.  an age passed.  specialagent
and i returned to the car where we had some poot.  i became paranoid. 
we got inside and hit the bar.  diet coke for lady p.  we met tweeb0y
from the tweekitten cutie club chatroom.  i had auditory
hallucinations.  everyone ordering drinks at the bar was saying my
name.  oooooh.  went to the boys room and splashed water on my face. 
returned to the crowds it happened again.  music they call northern
soul...like in shepherds bush after elliot smith before B&S eventually
came on.  shouldn't it be called eastern soul when it is played in the
states?  hmmmm.  i let that thought slide away like the ice cube
slipping down my throat.  looking for daisy sporting listees.  and
then tweeb0y approached in a panic.

"have you heard the rumour?"

"rumour?"  

"one of the girls has had to be taken to hospital...the band might
cancel".

disbelief.  felt hot and sweaty.

walked away from tweeb0y and found specialagent and tiffany on the
left side of the balcony.  specialagent was still wearing his parka in
the heat.  the man has a high heat threshold i observed.  

   Lady P: "erm did you guys hear the rumour?"

   Specialagent: "uuuuh?"

   LP: "it seems like the band will cancel because one of the girls is
pretty ill"

   S:  "uhhh no, that is a TOTALLY belle and sebastian type rumour...i
wouldn't expect anything less at a show they put on."

   LP: "yeah probably."

we chatted about other stuff almost refusing to believe it is a
possibility that the band wouldn't play after everyone had travelled
so far, audience and band members (london to new york san francisco
back to boston).  specialagent dropped his drink.  we had to get away
from the ice.  we went downstairs.  we stood just behind the sound
desk and looked at the stage as chris came out.  alone.  i'm not
feeling good.  i hear my name....

the announcement.  a boy cried nearby.  i am shocked.  like really
shocked.  like i can't accept this.  some fooker shouted out "we're
going to kill you".  i know how he feels.  lots of thoughts going thru
the mind of lady p.  "is it really that serious?  is this the type of
event that could make the band say it wasn't worth it and break up? 
was "the girl" okay?"  there was a complete lack of information and
endless amounts of speculation.  another girl cried.

eeeek.  so i'm standing there with specialagent and i just can't
believe it.  chris left the stage and the audience gave a sort of "oh
well" round of applause.  people started to file outside.  staff are
the rudest i've seen anywhere and i've been to many dodgy ones! 
complete lack of courtesy, no sense of customer service and zero
compassion for those who had paid cash on the night and were leaving
the country / eastern seaboard a few days later.  whoever suggested
the venue as suitable should seriously think again before putting
another show on there.  gorgeous place but the worst set up ever.  a
complete fiasco.

on the advice of tweeb0y we go to a club called shampoo.  awful awful
awful dreadful place....someone tried to charge me five dollars for a
diet coke.  but fopstar met miss gay philadelphia.  

this post is much too long.  apologies.

we decided to cut our losses and get out of philadelphia ASAP....we
followed tweeb0y in his prized vee dub ("HELLO!!  like it's the ONLY
orange beetle with black hood in philadelphia") to the freeway when we
headed back to new york like five broken and sorry tinkerbells with
broken wings.

at 4 am we tried to get a motel room in a place called "sleepy
meadows".  specialagent and fopstar got the room for fifty dollars and
when we went around to the room, the driver (of a beat up white car
which was circling the complex before) was knocking on the window of
what was to be our room.  we went back to the office where fopstar and
specialagent tried to get the money back in vain.  the guy in the car
came in behind them and explained that he was just trying to get his
jacket which he left in there a few hours earlier....hmmmm.  so this
seemed a reasonable explanation at 4am and so we drove back around to
the room and before we even entered we decided that this place was too
dodgy and we would more likely than not have:
(a) our stuff stolen 
(b) throats slashed 
(c) our only ticket out of new jersey hi-jacked.  
back to the office where S & F once again tried to get a refund.  the
guy refused at first but then offered to give half the money back if
the guys "just, you know, want to take the room for an hour".  so our
two cohorts just crease up and the manager finally gives back the cash
and we went to a DENNYS for some fud.

so we were in denny's under the way-too-bright lights eating at a
table in the smoking section opposite a table of unruly types who were
making a mess and who then left.  the staff were (playfully i hope)
kicking the proverbial shit out of one another.....bizzare goings
on....AND THEN four big ugly men in deerhunter type jackets (who would
most probably give barmaids a hard time) walked in along with a young
boy, a deerhunter in training.  they walked up to our indiepop
contingent and looked at the mess left at the booth opposite.  looking
at us and then at the mess he said the following which made me quake
and my tiara shake: "that's a fucking mess...pigs wouldn't leave such
a mess.  i'm gonna kick the asses of the assholes who left that
mess...i'm not fucking sitting there" and then walked away,
thankfully.  in his infinite wisdom he obviously thought it was us who
had left the mess.  hmmmmmm.  best let sleeping dogs lie i siad to
myself.  

i went to the bathroom to pick the veggie burger from between my
pearly whites only to be interrupted by fopstar who ran in urgently. 
"p, we have to leave, our lives are in danger...those guys have just
made some nasty comment about jamie cola".  gawd such drama.  so we
pile into the FOOKING MOSTER and speculate that those guys were speed
freak hunter types indoctrinating an eight year old.....

fopstar drove for most of the journey back and i snuggled next to
specialagent for a moment in the back....and then was asleep.  

lady penelope awoke in a deserted times square at dawn.  why, we
thought, was toilet paper hanging everywhere.  "ah, the work of art
terrorists" we speculated.  it turns out it was ticker-tape from the
celebrations of the night before when some important sporting thing
happened.

we drove over to brooklyn and bought some fresh bread.  heading back
to manhattan we drove accross the brooklyn bridge and stopped at a
lay-by right on the bridge itself and took some photos.....

we parked the car next to battery park and smoked some poot while
looking at the statue of liberty far away in the bay.

returned the car and slept for the sunny afternoon.

i am still pissed about the show.  not playing even a few songs was a
total cop-out.  stuart david could even have done spaceboy dreams and
made a thousand souls feel better about the shite state of affairs. 
okay someone was ill.  not just someone but amazing isobel who plays
her instruments so well and has the voice of a honey-bee on a summers
day.   

"just one song" someone shouted out at chris.  

"i'm sorry" he said. 

"pish" is what is say. 

collectively my friends and i lost a lot of money we don't have.  we
just love the band.  the experience as a whole was certainly
interesting, but what was meant to be the reason of the trip turned
out to be one debacle i won't get over in a hurry.

anyhow,

bleesed art thou.


padraic / lady penelope / monsieur gateau du wizz.





 
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