It's the 90s -- so of course the girls had a laptop with them
and were e-mailing from the stops, a cyber-cafe, or also snail
mailing their reports from the road back to main camp at the pear
transmedia office in S.F.
You can also check out the '98 logbook, the spit chicks put another one together for the summer tour and it's waiting for your Huuuuungry Eyes (Patrick Swayze for you.).
DAY 4 or 5, from topiary
DAY 4 or 5, from marci
DAY 19, from topiary
DAY 19, from tara
DAY 20, from michelle
This place spawned John Waters, right, and Cookie Mueller, so I'm sure there is lots of strange and good and interesting things here, not to mention good thrifting, but I haven't seen a lot of the place.
What I have seen I like, it's a little colonial but kind of industrial too, which I like a lot, trainyards and stuff. Our show was at a very chi-chi french cafe that specializes in goat cheese, I had an expensive wedge of the stuff as I was about to keel over from hunger, it was kind of like quiche. Goat cheese pie.
So the space we performed in was very long, with a backdrop of huge dark paintings of peacocks and pelvic bones that were good, and the show itself was attended by a bunch of excellent dykes who seemed to enjoy us.
The dyke community here is very rocked right now by this really horrible thing that happened, this very political young dyke who helped found a lesbian avengers group here was killed very recently as she was closing up at her workplace. Her name was Caity Mahoney, she was close with the women who brought us here to Baltimore, and last night's show was dedicated to her.
The women we've met here are wonderful, I want to tell you more all about it, but some girls have come to whisk us away to Philadelphia, where we have a show tonight.
Did you all know that Edgar Allen Poe is buried here in Baltimore? We might make a pilgrimage . . . I'll get back to you . . .
PS - Love Love Love to all the chicks in San Francisco who are scrambling to help us from afar with benefits and sweet thoughts, we all feel warm & fuzzy & well cared for here out here in america. . . .
DAY 33, michelle
coming home...from, tara
Upon returning home I knew not if my feet had shoes or wheels on them. I thought I was a van. I wanted to be a van. Now I am glad that I am not a van because I cannot live my life inside polyester lining. I only line myself with polyester for boogie-filled nights carousing in San Francisco. (I just want to note that I am reading this a year later and I realize I am weird.--Tara) The ride home was lovely and I got my first speeding ticket ever in Wyoming, handed out to me by the most generic, stereotypical looking jerkbag of a cop. Duh. I tested my limits, or pushed my boundaries if you're a self-help wanker, by driving an all-night and into-the-morning shift which landed the four of us in the Astrovan (Sash, Harriet, Uncle Cherie and I) at the Badlands of South Dakota. Unfortunately by the time we got there I was exhausted and could only be a shithead. I napped in the back of the sweltering van and missed some incredible hiking. Upon returning to the van the ladies told me they had taken some senior portrait pictures in the flowers on their hike so naturally I wanted some taken of myself, at the mouth of the trail. We rambled on and stayed at a Howard Johnson's the next night somewhere in Wyoming which was exciting because I've never stayed at one and we ate pasta dinners in the hotel restaurant. I couldn't imagine stumbling any further and the women working there were real nice and there was some guy trying to charm our waitress with a story about his last DUI. At some point we stopped to get the Astro's oil changed and shopped in a small town and I think I got yelled at by some guys in a Jeep saying WOO-WOO or something, I think they liked my butt. Or thought I had a good mind for numbers. (This was really a less-than-sane time for me.--Tara)
As we entered California at Truckee my heart was filled full with rubber ducks. I was excited but not in a hurry. We stopped at a Starbucks and I have to tell you, it tasted fucking good, America. I was tired of Gatorade. We careened along toward San Francisco and I think it was one of those times in my life when I lived in the moment. I didn't want to be anywhere else, I wasn't in a hurry, I just soaked up the feeling of returning to my current hometown after a long time away. Moments like that don't always feel like much, maybe they feel like a coming-of-age movie or something. It just seemed everything was ALLright. WAAAAAAY LATER, michelle
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