Ontario is a strange place, conservative scenic, sketchy and overpriced. Thank god for our day in the Backpackers Hostel. Cost a tonne, but it was a bit like coming home for a day, a kitchen, balcony and bathroom all in our own private suite. We acted like tourists for a day.
Danny and I went to the national gallery, and saw lots of art, In particular Ragnar Kjartnsson’s “song” making me a creep hard agian for icelandic creatives and their crafty behaviour. There are also some lovely Louise Bourgeois works there, they get me every time, and a Rothko. Danny affirms his heritage, he likes the ornate and detailed italian paintings the best.
At night we take a 2:00 am stroll around parliament, the cops are plentiful and surprisingly accommodating considering our slight inebriation. There is lots of giggling mixed with awe (gargoyles, flying buttresses), and frustration (Fuckin Stephen Harper). Also, they have a stray cat village on parliament hill?
Zaphod’s is grungy, black-lit and apparently we are opening for Hip-Hop. Yogi is our sound man, and gives us the recording from the board. After the show we get free entrance o the upstairs strip club, apparently they have an agreement. I end up in there with most of the boys, Mel, Marie and Eddie are rocking the jukebox at the Laff across the street. Ottawa seems like a tough nut to crack. this town is pricey and strange. On a positive note, we were happy to find out we got the Harvard Broadcasting Exposure grant which we scrambled so hard to send off while in Saskatoon.
We wanted to pull another motel heist and save ourselves a bit of cash, but weekend rooms in Ottawa have skyrocketed and we decide to take the night ride to Peterborough. We pull into a campground at 7:00 am, set up our tents and sleep through some gentle rain.
Michael is our man in Peterborough, energectic and awesome we will join him for a show in his glam persona TWNKLFINGRZ later in the week. We play acoustic in the Cannery Art’s centre, it works out surprisingly well. The guy at “The Night Kitchen” gives us a whole free pizza. We squeeze seven of us into a tiny living room, Danny and I sleep under the table in the kitchen.
It’s the Phog tonight in Windsor, i just ate a plate of poutine and i am drinking a Russian Stout. Apparently a flautist with a resplendent moustache is making families happy at the Capitol Theatre next door… We got some too, so come on round.