Buffalo, NY – “What’s your flavor honey?” – The Tralf – May 28
Ani Difranco’s label “Righteous Babes,” is in Buffalo, and Craig, our stage manager at The Tralf said the folks there were interested in meeting me. “Would you all want to head down there after sound check?” he asked. Of COURSE we did and it did not disappoint. Righteous Babes was full of righteous babes with slightly stoned smiles and purple highlights in their hair. It was inspiring to see what Ani’s created under her own steam and the landscape she’s managed to clear for women in music is vastly beautiful. Frankly, Ani’s my idol. She’s exactly what I aspire to be: an artist with a thriving record company, grown from scratch. Righteous Babe is a RIGHTEOUS place!
The stage at The Tralf sounded GREAT and Buffalo really showed up for us, even on a Wednesday night. A few parents managed to smuggle their kids into the show and I insisted they come up on stage and dance to “All This Time” with me.
As we packed equipment at the end of the gig, Craig instructed us to drop what we were doing and follow him down to a predominantly gay dance club on the ground floor.
“Word on the street is that you’re nursing a broken heart,” he looked me up and down like he was going to guess my weight before he opened the door to the club. “You straight?” he asked. I nodded. He waved his hand apologetically and said he’d introduce me to the “right” people.
The men were beautiful! adorned in pumps, pink boas, gloss to match, and huge, bulb earrings (I was pretty sure had once belonged to a Christmas Tree). These gorgeous men lip sank to Madona and took turns strutting the length of the red-carpeted stage. They stopped now and again to bite a dollar out of someone’s flirtatious hand and Kyle, delighted, filmed the whole thing.
I just wanted to dance, to sweat away my sadness and rejection. I lost track of the time to glitter and Abba and some pretty powerful teal-colored drinks a handsome guy (who wasn’t Sam) was only too happy to ply me with. Tonight was supposed to be the start of Sam’s and my reunion weekend and I imagined him, instead of with me, night swimming under stars at Lake Havasu while I swam in lights from a swirling disco ball and the sweat of strangers. I booked a flight back to Martha’s Vineyard tomorrow to nurse my broken heart in my mama’s arms and between tears, was dedicated to spending the weekend writing songs to get the poison out of my system and down on the page. Mama said she’d be my kerchief and there is no one on earth I’d rather shed my tears on.
Just as I was about to look for the guys a man dressed in a fringed yellow leotard, heels, stockings, and a canopy of red curls took the stage to announce the nature of the contest we were about to witness; Ten men, scantily dressed took the stage and one woman got up there with them. The contest was (and parents, you might want to skip to the next paragraph to spare your children’s innocence) a competition to see who could “fuck the inflatable lamb’s ass with a pink plastic strap on the sexiest.” Each contestant, took the spotlight, strapped on the strap on, and went to town on this poor inflatable animal. The crowd went wild. Kenny, out of nowhere appeared beside me. “This is fucking awesome,” he said, mesmerized. The yellow fringe leotarded emcee was ecstatic, a virtual electrified Big Bird of a man. He egged everyone on quipping into the mic “Does this lamb look happy to you?!?!” and the audience went nuts.
The girl won. She was sexy as all hell and hella ballsy for getting up there in the first place. It was definitely time to go and Kenny and I searched for the rest of the band in a sea of feathers, flinging arms, and purple drinks. I found Soucy, wide-eyed eyed coming out of the women’s bathroom. “You OK?” I asked. “Ya,” he shook himself, “some fourteen-foot dude just came up behind me at the urinal and asked me ‘What’s your flavor honey?’”
It’s our new favorite catchphrase.