Tell Me A Story

[Little Miss Risk]

I found myself in Cracker Barrel this morning. Usually this will mean one of two things; either your near death or your on tour. In my case it was thankfully the latter. Only senior citizens eat there with any regularity and 97% of the clientele is the elderly. Conversely, the other 3% is touring musicians and performers and I have yet to see anyone of middle years eat there who is not host to a sofa-sized ass. It got me to thinking that the change table in the bathroom isn't so much meant for infants as it is the incontinent.

While waiting for my senior citizen special, I was able to reflect and think back on our strange show at Davey's the night before. The whole thing kind of ran to the surreal. Our night started off by finding out that Motorhead, The Reverend Horton Heat and Nashville P**** were all playing a triple bill up the road. A bill, I might add, that we were NOT on. Seems some people in Vancouver might have gotten their wires crossed about that... Never the ones to let an opportunity pass, Bloody Betty, BJB and I went up in the Murderbus to invite people down to our show after that one. The production team encouraged us to knock on the tourbus (I hesitate to think that they thought Betty and I were perhaps tarts or drug dealers or both). Jimbo answered the door, no doubt disgruntled to find his CNN viewing disturbed, and graciously told us that the band had to leave after the show and drive through the night. Whether they did or not, he was at least very polite at finding a girl in a giant gold bow and another in assless jeans at the door of his bus.

The night continued to get stranger from there, including a cast of characters seldom seen outside of a Jim Henson or Quinten Tarrentino movie: Our filmmakers friends like Jeff Chitty, Dr.Crow, Tattoo Troy, a fire performer in a top hat to rival BJB's, two psychobilly fashion designers, a gay dogwalker (who arrived at the bar with five dogs at 2AM), and an old homeless guy who wanted to play John's guitar. Then there were us, as well. A motley crew if ever there was one and quite frankly it was more fun than the triple bill up the road. All were dedicated to taking ridiculous photos both during and after the show, and then piling into the Murderbus to go to Dr.Crow's house.

Did I mention Dr.Crow has a tree fort? I probably should. Did I mention Dr.Crow's brother, Betty and JT were all up in the tree at 4AM? I probably shouldn't. I'm told their family members might get upset. Either way, we all gathered for a late night bush party on Dr.Crow's property around his airstream at the back. Mr. Skipper, his 20 year old Siamese cat, refused my attentions. I'm convinced after talking to Dr.Crow that he is an old bluesman trapped in the body of a cat who was more than likely an acquaintance of mine some two lives prior. He behaved as cranky as an old bluesman who had a large noisy group of drunks descending on him - which is to say he took off and hid in the bushes.

Now we find ourselves in St.Louis. The venue - the Foxhole - is new and looks amazing. We've got an opening burlesque troupe so I'm going to post this and go check them out. All I know is that they are friends of Memphis Belles, so they already have points in their favor.

Hugs and hisses,

Little Miss Risk