Snow is exquisite. It’s this incredible, magical conversion of the world into something Narnian and monochrome. It’s also damned cold and gets into crevices that have rarely been visited by anything else other than perhaps sand or Rowan. And I don’t really mean that about Rowan…
Though 81 South cancelled their show Saturday night, and though Joe Isaacs cancelled his, though I received three other emails about cancelled shows… we decided we’d strike out into the dark, windy, snowy night, and play our damned gig. I could point to integrity, or I could point to the overwhelming desire to play music… but mostly, we really, really needed the money, and if the coffeehouse wasn’t closing, then we were going to be there. Hell, it’s dinner and some cash, and on TOP of that, Sean had brought his guitar ALL this way, we bloody well needed to put it to use.
On the way out, roads were slippery and a little iffy, snow was coming down and Sean SAID he was going to do a little bit of screaming on the way, but high-pitched emissions of terror totally failed to manifest. I did okay.
Playing the show was a little bit disappointing as the native population of the Pour House had been decimated… or perhaps even… whatever a 20 to 1 ratio would be… yeah, whatever word that would… I’m going to write more about this later. Sean is kicking me. Eddie Izzard is on the tv, and I need to move a bit because … yeah… Sean’s toe. Oh, there’s a finger. He’s not ticklish, and he’s a LOT stronger than me. It’s sort of like fighting Holly, but I don’t plan to resort to the same tactics here. He’s a bit engaged.
