CHAPTER 3
Wherein our heroes dine too finely, square off against zombies and find common ground with one stranger while sparring with another. New mantras are adopted. The fellowship is broken.

Click here for the story so far. Click here to hear Pony Pants.

We started the day scooting out of the Motel 6 right before our noon-time check out. Some people showered, some didn't (I didn't). We filled the cooler with ice from the hotel's ice machine and headed to Providence — the drive took less than a blink. We parked, hit up a weird goth coffee shop (sorry! it was the first one we found), killed some time. We usurped the cafe's internet to find a bowling spot and oh, did we find one. Lang's Lanes was the site of our next temporary home, a veritable fluorescent wonderland. We bowled a couple games (Barking Spiders royally kicked our asses, thanks to my plentiful gutter balls), and then planned to kill more time in a diner. The greasy kid behind the shoes counter told us there was a diner called Bilkin's just down the road so we walked over to check it out. We were greeted by a scruffy, kind faced man in chef gear sitting on the outside patio, watching the day go by. It was only 5 p.m. and he obviously wasn't expecting customers for awhile, but he happily sat us at a big table and took our drink orders. This place was not a diner — I don't know what that bowling kid was thinking or what teenage planet he's lost on, but with appetizers starting at $6.95 and entrees like chicken breast stuffed with jalapeno feta cornbread and a cranberry confit, I can only imagine he's never been to a real diner in his life (poor guy).

The man who seated us, we learned, was the (very talkative) head chef Willy who had studied at Johnson & Wales, been mentored by two of the country's greatest chefs, and done his time in Europe. Our thin wallets begged us to leave, but Willy's sweet, smart ass charm and promises of gourmet delights kept us there. There was tempura for the vegans, goat cheese pizza for the vegetarians, and The Best Chicken Parm In The World for the meat eaters. Needless to say, Willy's handiwork did not disappoint, and he checked in with us often to make sure we were happy. We told him about our bands and the tour and he told us about his wife, their baby, and stories from his youth of getting pulled over while all fucked up. Yay Bilken's!
Barking Spiders left for their show in Pawtucket and we went back downtown. We played at a place called AS220, the sort of place that Philly needs so, so badly (listen up, yo): working art studios, 2 awesome galleries, a cheap bar, burrito restaurant and wifi hang out space, all wrapped up into a sweet downtown spot. It was hip, but all kinds of people were hanging out there, and instead of surly tattooed bartenders, I was served by a thirty-something blonde lady who looked like someone's cool aunt. We played first to a half full room and I can safely say that I think people there just didn't get us. Even though we played on the floor, everyone stood way back from us, as if they were afraid that our energy would rub off on them. People clapped politely and I saw one her tapping her toe, but otherwise it was straight hipster zombie town.
And I will take this moment, thank you, to air out my feelings about this. I know that aloofness is this supposed sign of coolness and that getting excited (or showing one's excitement) can be a vulnerable thing to do. That's why I am so into our scene in West Philly and the spirit of my housemates and friends — we all jump at the chance to love something, we are all freaking out about something or other all the time, we like to talk fast, laugh loud, bang our heads, clap our hands and dance it off. I think we're all still cool and precisely because we're not self conscious and because we like fun. So the standing stock still, staring straight ahead, crossed arms hipster stance just fucking gets to me. You see it in every city, you see it at every show. And I know it's not just because people don't like or understand Pony Pants; I've seen this same thing (if not more so) at sold out Deerhoof and Shellac shows, bands that people obviously love.
So they stood and stared and we rocked extra hard. We spread out over the nearly half the gallery floor, just the three of us, like courageous explorers into an arctic no man's land. After our set, a girl came up to me and said she really liked our set. "I've never seen a girl singer rock out so hard in real life," she said, and my heart got up and brushed its shoulders off. She apologized for the lameness of the crowd and assured me that its just how kids do in Providence. We talked about scene politics and annoying social strata, we talked about dating people who are on the road a lot. We actually kind of just talked like two friends, and it felt amazing to meet this girl so unexpectedly. Sometimes just one person can salvage an otherwise weird and lonely night.
The other bands that played were pretty cool. Child Abuse played right after us. They're friends with our friends in Genghis Tron and we'd seen them at the U Church a couple months ago. Death Sentence: Panda! were an experimental band from San Francisco, with an adorable girl singer and interesting instrumentation. The headliner was a side project of the drummer from Providence's very own Lightening Bolt. His shit was called Black Pus and sounded very much like, well, Lightening Bolt. The kids packed the room for this guy and for the first time on tour, I really missed the feeling of playing a hometown show. Oh, and the lady from Rascals did not deliver the pizza as promised. Right as our show was ending Barking Spiders came back, somewhat dejected, from a reportedly terrible show in Pawtucket. Apparently the bar they played was inhabited by metal heads who watched two of their songs, didn't clap, and then left. I thought I saw some weird, cultural parallels to our show, but will not go on about that any further here.
So, our crew was really excited to be reunited. "Let's never be apart again," we said. We hung out and then slept on the floor of this awesome dude Peter's apartment and had brunch with him at this rock and roll cafe called Julien's. The eggs benedict got rave reviews and Ryan claimed to have eaten the best omelette of his life. We left Peter, our new pal, headed to a nearby mall to run some errands and then sat on a vibrant patch of grass in front of Rhode Island's Capital Building. It was a supreme day and we just talked, read and did crossword puzzles while waiting for rush hour traffic to die down. After a couple hours we crammed back into our vans and took off for Boston.
Ah, Boston. I apologize to all the great people that I know who were born and raised there but goddamn, I hate Boston. The last time Pony Pants played there was one of worst shows ever, and sadly coincided with my 24th birthday. For reasons that defy logic (3 local bands were on the bill), no one fucking came. Like, my second cousin and her two friends were the only people besides the other bands in a huge room. No amount of alcohol could fill the hole in my heart, though I tried desperately. One good thing that came out of that night was meeting this girl Wendy who let us sleep on her floor and made us eggs in the morning. She told me about a place called the Cuntree Club, an all-girl DIY house in Boston that had tons of parties and house shows.
She promised me a show there next time we toured and totally came through on this promise and had us and Barking Spiders all set up for this tour until... the cops shut the house down. So we scrambled to find another show and ended up getting added last minute to a bill at a dubious place called the Bulfinch Yacht Club with a pop punk band and a Ramones cover band. Barking Spiders never found another show, so they came along with us for the ride. It was a disaster from the start: The bar was in a clubby Old City-ish part of the Boston downtown (next to a Hooter's), there was nowhere to park, and the bouncer and bartenders were total fucking assholes. We all felt really nervous, but a couple pitchers of beer, some burritos and many rounds of erotic photo hunt helped to calm us down. Despite my high hopes, The Ramoniacs were entirely lackluster and as soon as they were done we rushed all our shit onto the stage. We played to our very drunk and sweet friends, without whom our show would've been a complete waste of time. A few inebriated Bostonians joined in the fun, but it was still a gigantic relief when it was over.
We loaded out, got paid (a shock and delight to us all) and, as is our tradition, traded some fighting words with dickhead passersby. One guy in particular did not respond kindly to my drunken ranting about the LandRover (not his) next to us being the excessive product of capitalist greed. "Well have any of you fought for your country? Didn't think so. Well I have — three times." We all stood there, trying to connect the dots of his warped meathead logic. "Yeah, yeah I have, I fought for the army!" Steve unconvincingly claimed. Dude didn't buy it for a second and stumbled away on his gigantic loser feet, and just when we thought it was over he turned around and shouted "HOW BIG'S YOUR DICK?!?!?!?!" to which we all exploded with uncontrollable laughter. It became out little mantra: "how big's your dick? how big's your dick?" Then a similar, though unrelated, drunk asshole harassed Ryan while he was getting a slice of pizza, getting in his face for no reason and slurring in his ugly New England accent, "Hey Charles Manson, go fuck ya motha!" Ryan came back, pissed off and a little shaken. Apparently, our hatred with Boston is mutual. Finally we just lit some fucking fireworks and got the hell out of there.
We stayed up until 4 a.m. cavorting on the back porch of this guy Brad's apartment in Brookline.
Brad was a totally righteous graphic designer and in a cool band called Information. He fed us tons of beer and took pretty photos of our hang out sesh. Brad was Boston's silver lining. Today after an overpriced brunch, we checked out of Beantown, honking loudly and cursing at all the chowder heads. But Albany and the Ironweed House saved the day! We were all very excited/sad for this show, and friends, it did not disappoint. The excitement was because we were to play an after party for an anarchist skill share happening in Albany that day and sadness because it was our farewell show with Barking Spiders. We have become the most righteous bros during this tour — they are the most fun, laid back, hilarious motherfuckers. If you don't know who they are, I beg of you to check them out on this thing. So the party was awesome, both bands kicked more ass than usual, kids danced hard and loved us.
It felt a lot like being in West Philly: a living room packed with sweaty, dirty, drunk kids. As a special treat for the Albany scene and ourselves, we got up at the end of Barking Spiders' set and did a little joint jam together we came up with the the other night after recalling a really cool thing Mike's friend said in Brooklyn. After the Goodbye Blue Monday show last Sunday at the K&M Bar, while the bartender was in the bathroom, our friend Stina fulfilled one of her (very lofty) lifelong goals and ran behind the bar and drank directly from one of the taps. We all applauded her awesomeness and Mike's friend noted, "That is so Philly — something crazy happens then you hear the keys." The keys he was referring to are the ones hanging from the belt loops of punks and hipsters everywhere, that jingle jangle when one walks or runs. We made a simple, impromptu Barking Pony Spider Pants jam with these as the only lyrics, "Something crazy happens then you hear the keys!" It was a sweet way to seal our new best friends forever status with BS.
After the music was over we partied with the fun kids, drank a whole lot, set off tons of fireworks in the massive backyard of the Ironweed House, and made general merriment. Two awesome kids threw fire and I got some really amazing photos. A quick note about photos: I left all my camera charger and all its shit in Providence. A nice guy is going to Fed Ex it to me, and I'll be back in business hopefully on Wednesday. Then I will upload tons of photos, I promise! As for today and tomorrow, some shows got cancelled and we have two days off. For now we're back at Vassar keeping Halimah company and relaxing. We're going to tonight a drive in theater, and then to my uncle's beautiful lake house in Rhinebeck tomorrow. On Tuesday we have a nice long drive to Buffalo. As much as we wish our shows hadn't gotten cancelled, I am glad that we have nice cozy places to stay and gear up for the next leg of tour. But everything is going really well, we're all healthy and happy so far and not working is the best ever! I do miss my housemates and friends a lot and I'm not sure how I'm going to fare without them for so many more weeks. Okay, dinner time.