Disharmonic Convergence

Once in a while the weirdest planetary shit goes on as to create a series of events so surreal that Phillip Glass music should play behind them.

Last night I was playing at Happy Endings in Syracuse again, this time opening for Holly Figueroa. Maria and Jessica came again with Maria's sister Alicia. Thus it began. Muahahahaha....

First I lost a shoe, about 4 hours before the girls showed up. I went looking for it and I couldn't find it. So when the girls came I asked them to help, because I have rotten "looking" skills. I don't really look, I glance then say "Fuck it". None of us could find it. So we're getting back to the cafe and are in front of the door. We make way for a bum carrying two garbage bags full of cans he's collecting for the deposit when I say something along the order of "Fucking shoe, how can I lose a fucking shoe?" The bum turns and says "You lost a shoe? I put it over there on the windowsill!", turns away and continues on his can-collecting journey. We look at the building across the street and sure enough, there's my shoe sitting on the window ledge.

Then, we went back in for the show. I played 4 songs, then Holly started her set. She played about 8 songs and finished. I thought she was just ending the first set, but then she said "good night". Whoa! So short! Holly is so amazing and I really wanted to hear more more more! But that was it. So that was a little weird.

As usual I was hungry, so we decided to go eat somewhere, having no clue about anything in Syracuse. We talked about going to Doc's diner, a seedy, disgusting looking place just down the road from Club 950, the dyke bar I've played at a few times. But we couldn't do it. It seems just too gross. So we asked a local about diners, and he tells us to go to the Little Gem Diner. He gives us directions and we're on our way. We see the diner's neon lights and come closer, and IT'S DOC'S!!!! Officially, it's called "Doc's Little Gem" Diner. We are laughing our asses off and decide it's an omen, we must eat there. And may I just say Ew.

Seedy is a nice characterization. Don't get me wrong! I love dive diners, but there's good dive and bad dive. This was beyond bad dive. Let me count the ways:

Architecture: The art-deco metallic kind.
Decor: Lots of mirrors and curtains that haven't been washed since Nixon's resignation.
Clientele: Seedy trashy types named Bubba and Jim, with wives named Tammy who look like old butch lesbians, and child molestor/rapist types smoking cigarettes at the counter, leering at the four attractive women who just walked in.
Waitresses: One woman about 75, with big poofy grey hair, tall and skinnier than a pencil, and a voice roughened by years of cigarettes. Another who looks like a drag queen, but is a legit female, with a gap between her front teeth that could put out a fire if she spit through it. Then there was our waitress. A bitter late-30's lesbian filled with self-loathing, looking much older than her years, who wouldn't even look us in the eye when she came over with her order pad and contempt and said "Ready?"
Food: Don't make me talk about it again. Let's just say "undercooked French Fries".
Serviceware: Glasses with crusty lipstick on the rim and dried food bits on the inside, touching your coke.


When the bitter lesbian waitress said "Ready?" in her contemptuous tone, we were too afraid of her to say "no" and thought it best to just order whatever and not request any substitutions. Keep in mind we were all silly and laughing at the whole irony of the situation, referring to the restaurant as the "Little Germ Diner", thankful none us of had to use the bathroom. So we're laughing as we're ordering and I'm seeing that she thinks we are laughing right at her. We would never laugh at her! We'd at least wait until she left the room. When she left to place our order, she walked away with a "seething" vibe to her, and I was absolutely sure she was going to spit in our food. A few seconds later Chester the Molestor went into the kitchen. He was so filthy he didn't belong in a kitchen, but I'm sure he went to spit in our food, too. Then later she came out to give me my lipstick-less new glass of water (I asked for bottled ANYthing, but they didn't have it), and I saw her talking to the drag-queen waitress, glancing furtively our way. I knew we were done for.

The old-lady waitress with the Tom Waits voice brought us our food, and I wasn't even gonna return the Fries to be properly cooked! I opened my grilled cheese sandwich to look for loogies, but who can tell with melted cheese? Everyone else checked their food, we silently said prayers (I said one for my little atheist pal...), and ate. When we were done, Alicia got all scheved out and said "We have ...to go....NOW!!!" So we quickly threw our money on the table and gathered our shit. Maria and Alicia started speaking in Spanish, and I gently suggested "Uh...they probably never had Puerto Ricans in here, so you probably don't want to do that..." thinking Chester would call his KKK friends to meet our Puerto Rican/Lesbian asses in the parking lot. We laughed our way out the door, agreeing that on the ride back to Rochester we'd flash our lights if someone had to pull over to vomit.

On the way home Maria decided, as always, we had to have ice cream! We stopped at the next rest stop when we saw the "Ben & Jerry's" sign. But at midnight, they were closed. Bastards. So we had McD's ice cream, instead. We laughed at the stupid sculpture caricature of a skiier, with his ski pole place such that it looked like an extension of his penis. Then we continued on.

Maria and Alicia hopped back on the Thruway and Jessica and I stopped at the pump for gas. It was probably -10 degrees with the wind chill, so I pulled up to the Full Service side. The dope inside totally ignored me, but kept looking up. Not a wave of the finger to hold on, no quick run outside to say "I'll be right with ya". He just ignored me. So I got outta the car and went inside and I'm like, "Uh......you ARE open, aren't you?" And he's counting his drawer and gives me this story about how he's changing shifts and he's all alone and the other dude is late and he can't come out there and they're cashing out the receipts, blah blah blah. I can't even pump my own gas, because of whatever the fuck he's doing, the pumps are off. So I keep saying, "I understand what you're saying, but what I'm trying to say is that you HAVE A SIGN HERE THAT SAYS YOU ARE OPEN 24 HOURS AND I NEED GAS!!! And there's no sign that says pumps are currently down, sorry for the inconvenience, and you just let me sit out there for 5 minutes ignoring me!" And he says and I swear I ain't making this up "We don't have a sign that says that". And instead of saying "YOU HAVE A MARKER, DON'T YOU?" like I wanted to, I just left. Suddenly I couldn't even be mad at him because he was so pathetically stupid, so egregiously moronic, that for a split second, somewhere down in the depths of my icey, bitter heart, I actually felt sorry for the poor schmuck. So I just got in the car and hoped I had enough gas to get home, which I did, but barely.

So that was our road trip! Doncha love life on the road with a rockstar?

Monday?

Criminy, it's Monday all ready! Well, I'll do a nutshell. Or not.

Friday: No clue. It's all a blur. I don't remember what I did. Could have met Gillian Anderson for all I know.

Saturday: I had a gig at Happy Endings in Syracuse and it went really well. This is one of the most sought out venues in the Indie world. Owner was pleased with my turnout for a first time gig, and kept in mind the hideous weather, aware that many people probably stayed home in their igloos to keep warm. Didn't sell as many CD's as I would have liked, but the plus side is that many people who were there already own it. Maria and Jess, my stalwart missionaries, were there. We love them. Then I got asked back to open for Holly Figueroa this Friday. Woo hoo!

Sunday: My uncle came over to install a big ol' heating unit for the basement, where my office is. I think this will cost me about a million bucks a month to run. But it's better than being cold. Then later the family went to my grammy's house to celebrate mine and my nephew's birthdays. They celebrated my twin bro's birthday while I was in Canada. So I got a dress, a little money, and my aunt, who apparently has way too much time on her hands, gave me this really cool guitar-shaped CD holder. It was festooned with trinkets and candy and "40" novelties and about a dozen or more lottery tickets. I scratched one off and it was a $10,000.00 WINNER! I couldn't believe it! I wouldn't believe it! "I swear to fucking god, I think it's a winner", I yelled, to which everyone said "HEY, watchyer mouth in front of the kids!" Kids, schmids. So we're all looking at it and everyone is acting all weird, then I turn it around and read it. "To redeem the $10,000 prize, give ticket to the Easter Bunny or mail it to the planet Mars". AAAAAAAAAAUGHHHH! It was a joke. You can get them at Spencers. And though I laughed at the good joke, I am personally thinking this is the cruelist joke ever played upon me, because I was immediately thinking I had the rest of the funds I needed for my new CD. I had a huge sudden sense of relief for a brief second. Bastages! So after angel food cake, cheese cake, white cake, jello, and two flavors of ice cream (we ARE Italian...), everyone went home, except for my mom and me. We hung out and three generations of the Clementi clan played cards, in true Italian fashion.

Speaking of being Italian, as you can see it's amazing how much food the women prepare for family events. They cook for 50. But this was a small event, so for dinner we ONLY had Bragiole, Ravioli, Spaghetti, stuffed green peppers, salad, and bread. You already read about the desserts.

Here's a typical holiday dinner at my house. First we have Strachitelli (Italian Wedding) Soup. Then we have stuffed artichokes. Then we have Salad. And then we eat.

I'm not kidding. Then we have turkey, ham, chicken cutlets and pasta for the main course. For veggies we have carrots in brown sugar and honey, corn, and squash. Then we have stuffing (the absolute worst you'll ever taste), sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. With gravy. There's always a plate of meatballs and sausage on the table, from the sauce (which also sucks) and 2-3 loaves of garlic bread. It doesn't matter if there are 8 of us or all 17 of us, it's always the same amount of food - enough to feed us all and for each to take home leftovers. It's pure gluttony. Does everyone wonder why I obsess about my weight? Except for me, nobody in my family goes under 225 (and we are all short Sicilians), so I'm fighting the inevitable here: genetics and heredity. My dad was humongo, too.

So if you ever wonder why there are starving people in the world, just blame it on the Leone family. We have all the food!