Little Rock, AK – “Waffle House” – Juanita’s – May 21, 1999

We bolted for the door of the “Waffle House” as a thunderstorm rolled overhead. The bright, golden light inside the dinner contrasted sharply against the dark blue Arkansas sky outside. Shaking shoulders from our ears, we gleefully accepted five oversized, slightly greasy, laminated menus offered by our sunny, soon-to-be waitresses, Melba and Mary.

I lost my voice last night singing at Janita’s. In truth, it was only hanging on by a thread after belting out that acoustic set back in Millwalki. So I scribbled and smiled a greeting and quick explanation. We were the only patrons this morning at “The Waffle House,” and so had our choice of ketchup brown booths. We slid into one overlooking the parking lot with a front-row view of the incoming storm. the boys laughed at me as I whistled and scribbled out my breakfast order.

Last night after locking ourselves out of the van in the parking lot of Juanita’s, some southern gent sauntered up who said he had a coat hanger in his car and didn’t mind helping a very grungy gang of hippies break into a vehicle they claimed was theirs. As it turned out, Todd (the coat hanger owner) is not so good at breaking into cars but, on the bright side, runs the local “Waffle House” and offered to hook us up with breakfast in the morning before we split town. When I told Delucchi about Todd’s offer, I’d never seen someone’s face light up so bright, “Waffle House?!” he uttered staring off into the distance. I’d never been to a Wallfle House so I got excited just looking at his excitement.

I was less excited, however, in the morning when breakfast arrived. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth but when a curdled nest of runny cheese eggs and a side of dry toast arrived on a vast white plate, I suddenly wished I’d slept through breakfast. The guys had better luck with semi-tasteless double orders of waffles, O.J. and all-you-can-drink “coffee” which I’m not convinced wasn’t just runoff from one of the gutters outside. When we were adequately stuffed and only mildly queazy, our lovely waitress Melba floated over to our table, all glowing and southern-bell like and said:

“Now, on the voucher Todd gave me, you all’ve got forty dollars and twelve cents left so WHAT CAN I GET YOU TO EAT?”

She ejected her hips back like she’d popped the clutch on them and launched into a fit of laughter. “Y’all want pie, honey? or some more grits?” We stared up at her in silent disbelief. None of us could imagine eating more Waffle House.

The previous night’s event at Juanita’s was a benefit gig to fight breast cancer, featuring not only my music but a “Poetry Slam,” I found out I’d be M.C.ing. Between 1/2 hour musical sets, poets ignited the stage with their fiery words and flamboyant styles. Some even inspired my bandmates Soucy and Brian to join in with beats and licks. My guys are truly the best.

During one of my turns on stage, a woman in all white (I’m pretty sure was on LSD) came and sat on the stage right at my feet. She kept petting my toes like they were kittens as I sang. Between songs, she tried to get my attention by pulling on the hem of my skirt, mouthing, like a hostage, that she needed talk to me about something RIGHT NOW! I thought she was pretty harmless but the bouncers removed her anyhow. I kninda wonder what she had to say.

After the gig, we still had to deal with the issue of being locked out of Moby, so while the rest of the band drank mochatinis (the bar’s signature drink), Dellucci heroically borrowed a car and retrieved the spare from the hotel

2 oz. — Vodka · 0.5 oz. — Espresso · 0.75 oz. — Chocolate Liqueur · 0.5 oz. — Simple Syrup · Garnish — White Chocolate.

At 5 am, Chris loaded our drunk asses into the back ally after getting the van opened and lovingly secured the flowers my glorious mama sent me, between the back seat and the instrument cage… “so you can sunbathe in their light on our drive to Mobile, AL tomorrow,” he said. He’s the best babysitter a band could have.