Back in New York. For now. The Realizing the Impossible Tour was super fun. Every night we stopped in a different town and played at the local infoshop/radicalbookstore/free school/community space– in places like Portland, Montpelier, and Wilamantic Connecticut. We swam in the ocean, muddy rivers, creeks, and a deep, icy cold river gorge with a covered bridge. We ate tahini/kale sandwiches. 13 shows in row without a day off was a lot, and I’m glad to be home.
So, I managed to get a flight home from Seattle and made it to New York 12 hours before the flight to Costa Rica. I felt a little triumphant because I spent hours on the phone and internet in my friend Erica’s living room in Seattle trying to figure out just how the hell I was going to get home and still make this other flight.
Once back in Brooklyn I paid my taxes (it was the 16th) and did a bunch of other life-maintenance crap like pay bills and finalize work for May…and then, with no sleep, A’yen and I were off to the airport at 3am. I couldn’t believe we were actually going to make it…and then… “I’m sorry Miss, but your passport has expired.” My jaw dropped. A’yen was on the verge of tears. And there was no way they were going to let her on the plane. There was nothing we could do, so I went on ahead and A’yen proceeded to go through a minor hell to get her passport renewed. She’s Canadian. She went to the consulate. No dice. She called her mom who then drove with her to Canada where she had to jump through a million hoops to get a passport. In Canada you’re required to have a guarantor- a professional (there’s a list that includes doctors, dentists, lawyers, and teachers) who’s known you for at least two years and will vouch for your existence. Even if you’re renewing a passport you need this guarantor. Seems crazy. And seems designed to make it quite difficult for people who don’t have lots of white collar ‘professionals’ in their lives to get a passport. Oh Canada.
Anyway, eventually A’yen made it and I was super happy to see her get off the plane with a big exhausted smile on her face. We were housesitting for my friends, taking care of their dogs Mousey and Dinah (above), watering their garden (also above), cooking and reading. The time we spent there would fall into the category of vacation. Not like I needed a vacation from anything. It was nice. And strange. Highlights include the beach; hammocks; more beach; going surfing for the first time since I was 14 (and almost rubbing my nipples off); lots of mangos; a ridiculous amount real estate development and the accompanying well-tanned reptilian gringo real estate venture capitalists.
I think I left off with the Greyhound…
I finally got off of the bus in San Francisco, where I met up with Marshall and Nona to play Dark Dark Dark shows up the West Coast.
San Francisco: Surfing (not me…holding out for warmer waters), climbing hills, and a super fun house show with Ghost Family, Covena Turpentine, Leyna, and Broadway the band.
Eugene: Long long drive. Tiny Tavern. 5 people. The mechanical bull finale of Urban Cowboy was playing on the television. Chickens and ducks in the backyard=fresh eggs for breakfast (thanks Lydia).
Portland: My sister and I got our nails done together. We played an unexpectedly fun show at the Know (bar) that included wheeling my bass around the bar in a pram (baby carriage).
Olympia: Relationship drama (not mine, not the band’s). Catching up with old friends and old chairs.
Seattle: Scribble Squat was a magical place to play. There were candle chandeliers and honey cake and kids dangling their legs from half-burnt ceiling beams. The police started banging down the door halfway through and we played a few more songs. Afterwards people went outside and talked to them and the most memorable part of the conversation (as it was relayed to me) was:
Cops: We’re just trying to be cool here.
Kids: (reassuring) You’re being cool! You’re being cool!
Cops: We know you hate us.
Kids: No! We don’t hate you! Why would we hate you?
Cops: Yeah…people told us that you hate us.
San Juan Island: The ferry was f’in expensive. We busked in attempt recoup. Our friends Juniper and Sean put us up at the lovely Juniper Lane Guesthouse. We swam in the freezing ocean that was framed by forest and driftwood lagoons.
Seattle:
My flight back to New York was canceled. There was an ice storm. And I only had 24 hours to get back there in order to make my flight to Costa Rica the next day.
to be continued…
The bus was long and painful and beautiful. I met some amazing people and got very little sleep. I don’t have much time in front of a computer to write anything coherent. Here are a few photos. in Pittsburgh, PA, Amarillo, TX, Joplin, MO, and Harrisburg, PA. More soon.
Made it safely to the San Francisco after a 76-hour bus ride (and a nice 10 hour break in L.A. with Nate Denver.)
More on the bus and Dark Dark Dark’s adventures up the West Coast coming soon.
Next week I’m taking a Greyhound bus 3.5 days from New York to Seattle. These days it’s cheaper and faster to fly (although Greyhound tickets are still possible to forge, I think). I’m taking this trip because I want to make a film about a cross-country bus ride. These 3000 miles are a kind of research for the film– a way to ‘find’ the story.
I’m fascinated by the intersections of people and the temporary intimacy and how utterly American the bus is in a non-Patriot Act, non-flag-waving kind of way. On the bus that it becomes very apparent who is fighting the United States’ wars, who is being criminalized, incarcerated, institutionalized. It’s on the bus that I’ve met Vietnam vets, fresh faced army-recruits en route to basic training, and folks just out of prison– as well as retired bureaucrats, English teachers, and entire families on their way to weddings and funerals. It’s on the bus that I’ve divulged secrets about myself that almost no one else knows– and it’s on the bus that I’ve listened to the most intimate confessions of strangers whom I’ll never meet again.
Of course, I know it’s not all romantic and gushy like I’ve just described. It’s uncomfortable and stinky and boring and people are annoying and loud and the only hot food around is Arby’s and McDonalds…and sometimes you just don’t want to talk to your neighbor or they don’t want to talk to you, so you both just watch the landscape of the interstate roll by or stand awkwardly under the florescent lights of a rest stop stop in Elk City, Oklahoma smoking cigarettes at 3:00 A.M.. But I think that’s part of it too.
Everyone I talk to about this film project gets excited to share their own amazing story about riding the bus. It’s pretty universal. So, I’m making a zine of these stories. And I’d love yours to be part of it.
The only requirement is that your story be about an experience you had riding a Greyhound bus (or some other U.S./Canada-based bus line).
Write about the time you had to wait in the station for 13 hours. What about the time someone got drunk and belligerent in the back seats and the driver tried, unsuccessfully, to throw them off? The 8-hour love affair you had on the way to Cleveland? Or when you woke up as the sun was rising over the Rocky Mountains and your neighbor, the soft-spoken 70-year old train conductor, was leaned gently up against you, still asleep. Or write about the boredom, or the time you scammed your way across the country with a fake ticket. Anything related goes. Please forward this email to others who have stories to tell.
I’m also looking for art and illustrations that are on topic.
Please let me know if you’re interested and email (or mail) all stories / art to me by April 16th. I’m going to be compiling and laying out that following week.
toddchandler [at] gmail.com
Todd Chandler
17 Dikeman Street
Brooklyn, NY 11231
Thanks. Happy trails.
XO
photos by:
Steven Bao
Henk and Anna
we drove to ohio for the allied media conference. there was lots of ice cream and singing. the conference was great. part media-activist reunion, part inspiration. all the detroit people were awesome.bowling green is a college town.
