January 06, 2009

philadelphia

i didn't really get many good pictures of philadelphia. i simply forgot to. and/ or didn't have a ton of visual inspiration. but i'll do my best to describe my latest jaunt with what i have.

i almost missed my bus on saturday due to nyc train fucked-upness, but alas... i was the last one who staggered onto the full bus, one minute prior to departure. from there, it was a relatively smooth ride to philly. when i arrived, i immediately found the intermezzo cafe. from the website, it looked like a nice place to relax and write for a little while, while i waited for my couchsurfing host to contact me.

coffee & journal - intermezzo cafe

it was my first time couch surfing, or at least through that site. i wasn't quite sure what to expect, but was relieved to learn she lived a few blocks away from where the bus dropped me off and i could walk to her place. luckily she was sweet, and we had a very nice time shooting the shit.

natalie and cats
natalie & cats

ginger
ginger

the gig was at 12:30 in the afternoon the next day, oddly. it was a cute enough place. there were a few little kids there, so i felt the need to "tone down" my material a little. but still, i like coffee shops and i like to sing in them :) i DID forget to get pictures. oops.

soooo after the gig natalie and i went to a pub and had a beer, and apparently forgot about time. we drove to the bus station, but due to some circumstances that weren't our fault, i DID miss the bus this time. i had to get on the phone and go through a whole rigamarole with the bus people, and i basically didn't know when the hell i'd be leaving philadelphia. natalie had to leave me at the there, cuz she had other places to be. i waited patiently in 30th st. station for three hours for the next bus, that was full according to the representatives. would i be going home soon or not?

i got to know the place well.
30th street station

luckily for me some people didn't show up for the 6:30 bus, and there was just enough room for me to squeeze in. i was back on track to the city in no time.

fuck you, megabus. but much more gently than greyhound, who have screwed me worse before. at least your fares are cheap.
fuck you megabus

cool building that changes colors.
cool building that changes colors


epilogue:
when i got back on the (still fucked up) train, and was on my way back to my apartment, i was so relieved. but felt a bit disheveled. i was surprised when some guy struck up a conversation with me - he motioned to my guitar and asked "you any good?" it's a funny thing, being a woman and carrying an instrument in the city. people just talk to you. i answered him and said no, probably not. lol. i sing and play some chords. i'm not like stevie ray vaughn or anything.

he then launched into this thing... i'm not even sure what it was. was he trying to pick me up? was he trying to sell me his services? was he just trying to relate to another musician? i'm still not sure. but he basically told me he worked for a post production house in midtown and that i should record a song with him. i said thanks, but i'm just completing an album now, and also i'm broke.

then somehow we started talking about mastering, and what my needs were for that. he kept making weird faces at me while i was talking and insisting i didn't know what i want. but that he, being the stranger i just met, did. he gave me the impression that what i was doing wasn't "professional" enough. he didn't understand why i didn't want a sanitized-pop-gold sounding record, like nickelback or some shit. and he was totally, blissfully clueless about why a musician would need a day job, when i asked him if his studio was hiring (incredulously: "shouldn't you be doing your music??" ...uh... YEAH. i am. but it's not exactly bringing in the big bucks at this point.) also. he didn't know who FEIST was.

whatever, who knows what this character's intentions were. the point is it was an entertaining story to share with you folks at 1am. and the wrap-up to this story in general. aahhh, to be a musician in new york.
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