ATN Road Report: Silkworm In A New England State Of Mind

On the road with Pavement. Photo by Jay Blakesberg.

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 5-9-97

You'd think that my

love of the Pennsylvania countryside would translate into a love of the New

England countryside, but it doesn't. They're similar in many ways -- rolling

hills, lovely old utilitarian architecture, dim-witted oafs driving big

American cars.... I think there's just too many fucking trees in New England.

All the meadows seem carefully placed, whereas the verdant hills of

Pennsylvania seem ancient and content. I did experience an unexpected

transformation today, though:

We were just entering Connecticut, and I

made some foul comment regarding Andy's butthole. It wasn't unusual, and

ordinarily I'd say such a thing and giggle with delight. But I was genuinely

disgusted with myself, and wondered why I couldn't think of something better to

say, or just keep my mouth shut. Really! Then later on, Andy said something

about forcing himself on me or something, and I said, "could you please refrain

from using such foul language." No shit! And then, I kid you not, by the time

we arrived in Boston, we were listening to some Beethoven concerto and smiling

sweetly at the morose faces of the toll-booth attendants. Fucking New England,

it got the best of me.

I was also going to mention something about hopping

gaily through a dew- touched mew, chasing the happy geese, picking daisies and

magic mushrooms, looking forward to cocoa and a hot toddy by the fire... We

passed a dew-touched mew while listening to Beethoven, and the image came to me

in a flash. God help me.

It was nice to be in New York again, if only for

a few hours. I got to see Polara, and I slept blissfully through a good half of

their set. Though thoroughly enjoyable, this nap did not say good things about

Polara. They're nice folks, though, and I still remember their names. Our show

was okay. There seemed to be fans there, but it's so hard to tell in such an

industry- thick town. I got absolutely no attention from anyone after the show

and felt totally emasculated and boring. My friend Aislinn likes me, but she

didn't show up, so I felt pathetic. Shit! The East Coast turns me into a

fucking wimp. Later last night, when I spent 45 minutes trying to park the van

in Astoria, I nearly lost it. I finally parked about a mile from Mark and

Kristen's, jogged back to the house and flopped onto a couch that was so thick

with their dog Chet's hair that in the morning I looked like a damned Greek. No

time for a shower, either.

So now I'm at M.I.T., a filthy, emasculated

rocker among the smartest little brats in America, waiting for Tim and Andy to

finish their little radio presentation. I used to feel bad about not playing at

these things; now I am overjoyed to be left out and given some time to

myself.

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

Michael

D