i just need the airfare [&] i’m gone: [i'm fucking human, i have to LIVE! oh don't be afraid, 'cos you're a rockstar.]
Thursday, June 4th, 2009
A few jetset attractions. Ironically enough, after months of back-and-forth with Devine about Amanda, these two have actually come together for a song on the upcoming, as-yet-untitled Kill Hannah album. You're welcome. (A.P. by me, M.D. by R.E. Barbash)
A few months ago I was sitting in Joplin, Missouri at Waffle House with Seattle-based band Aiden. They had just played a show to less than a handful of people and now were militantly devouring food ordered 15 minutes prior. We received the full rock star treatment: As much grape jelly as we could ask for, luxurious smoking settings, cheese on our hash browns and grits made any way we liked them. At one point I looked at wiL sitting across from me and said:
“Welcome to the rock star life.”
It’s filthy glamor, tight schedules, endless itineraries and bruised egos. Your brain 10 miles ahead, already considering the next venue, per diem and hand-job in a dark bar booth after the show. Aiden weren’t driving the 4 hours home like I was, they were headed somewhere toward the west coast, but all of us had jobs to attend, uniforms to look forward to: Khaki pants, pearl necklaces, eye liner, t-shirts, black polos, names on your sleeve. Worn tires, broken strings and hearts, the blank canvas of a hundred b-b-b boys and girls all saying the same thing: “Man you’re pretty cool.” The same look of expectation to deliver.
I’ve tried to find a way to mitigate the civilian and the “celebrity.” To embrace both the artistic and scientific . To try and meet them in the middle. In an effort to achieve this [and in an attempt to keep my sanity] I’ve developed a jetsetting system fueled by mania and a desperate need to escape.
History lesson: I work for a bar that charges tax. Yes, tax on booze. So instead of your beer being $3.00, it’s $3.26. Because of this I usually end up with loads of change after my shift. I save said change in Crown Royal bags stacked against the wall and use it to fund last-minute jetsets and boutique hotel stays. This way nothing really comes out of pocket and I have challenges set before the plane even takes off. How much will I have to work with? How can I manage round-trip airfare and a four-star hotel in Seattle for $300? It takes practice but I’m quite skilled.
There is also something entirely appealing about the idea of someone treating you like you’re “somebody” when you’ve literally counted pennies to afford their services. Whether you’re on the stage or in front of it, the lesson is simple: Work it.
My rules go something like this:
- * Pay for the jetset using only change, no cash out of pocket.
- * Hotel must be 3-star or better. [3-star in smaller cities, 4-star in large cities]
- * If possible, upgrade to first class, but economy is acceptable. [Any airline.]
- * The more amenities the better.
- * Bonus if room service/shopping is paid for with change as well.
- * The jetset can’t last longer than a couple of days. The idea of jetsetting is to get in and back out quickly. [Much like sex.]
Here I’ve outlined a couple notes from a few of these I’ve set sail on in the last year. Obviously Chicago is my favorite destination and as I’m still working around a murderous schedule full of slinging alcohol, conducting interviews, editing, submitting and publishing, my time, even for a few days, is limited. So as of late I’ve been trying to kill two birds with one stone by scheduling these at the same time friends are playing shows. [Defeats the purpose of a true "jetset" but I only have so much to work with.]
How is this related to poetry you ask? It keeps me arguably more sane than my medication does and I’ve written at least one decent poem on each of them. Everyone in the world needs to become more road-tested. It’s such a bonus to living. I’m helping you realize why.
Chicago, December 24th-26th, 2007
Hotel: The W Lakeshore
Budget after initial costs: $89
Other attractions: Kill Hannah at Subterranean, Kill Hannah at The Vic Theatre, hosted party at Smart Bar [FYI: if you haven't been to a party hosted by Paul in Chicago you haven't fucking partied in Chicago], loft party at address unknown because I was way too loaded to remember
By far my favorite hotel in Chicago so far. The W Lakeshore is now the proud setting of many of my recurring fantasies. One day I will have a dangerous and delicious tryst on one of their feather-top mattresses. I have poems written on their stationary tacked to my wall. The rooms are equipped with a privacy divider between the open bathroom and beds, as well as lemon-sage Bliss shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion. Their spa is hands down one of the best I’ve experienced. On-site everything: pool, jacuzzi, store etc. My only two small complaints about the W Lakeshore is that their location makes travel a bit difficult and their room service meals aren’t the greatest, however the view alone is worth the cost of admission:
View of Navy Pier outside the W Lakeshore
Their concierge service–perfect. Twice cut blow and a Russian housewife with blonde hair, one blue eye and one green? Done. A double cheeseburger from McDonald’s and a $72 bottle of Earthquake Cabernet at 4am? Done. They could do anything. Like Jesus, only you paid with cash, not blood. Early check-in’s/late check-out’s were not a problem.
The Kill Hannah shows were refreshing, as at the time they were in the process of a very messy yet satisfying divorce from Atlantic Records. The show at Sub-T was a nice lovemaking compared to the orgy that was the Vic. The afterparties at Debonair and Sonotheque were a typical blur, the after-after parties even more so. The next night at Smart Bar was off to a slow start until about midnight when I forget most of what happened. There was dancing. There were many, many shots. There was a loft owned by a con-artist and a wonderful rooftop view of the city. We had a white christmas.
Chicago, December 3rd-4th, 2008
Hotel: The Hyatt Regency: Chicago
Budget after initial cost: $200
Other attractions: Amanda Palmer at the Metro, attempted party at Debonair Social Club, copious amounts of room service
As far as chains go, the Hyatt Chicago is one of the nicest ones. I’ve found that when I book with chain hotels the feel tends to get a bit sterile no matter the city. But they were accommodating enough and their grilled cheese from the late night menu was the BEST I’ve ever had. No lie. In fact the entire room service menu was stellar. I also had a wonderful italian dish with tofu chicken that was splendid. I felt awful that I’d taken two Vicodin just prior to eating and fell asleep shortly after the food arrived. I remember I was violently ill for most of this trip but the staff was friendly and let me stand next to the door and smoke to avoid the freezing rain. Amenities included an orange-ginger line of shampoos and soaps [can't remember the brand] and 52-inch flat-panel TV’s. The downtown view was pretty killer as well:
Outside the Hyatt Regency, Chicago
The Metro were pretty fierce about enforcing their curfew, as they always are, but the hotel was located close enough that it didn’t become an issue. The security guard working that night outed me, telling Amanda she’d watched me cry from the balcony the entire evening. Amanda kissed me. All was well with the world. She was touring with the Danger Ensamble at the time and every song had an exclamation point behind it. Lots of smiles, energy and solidarity.
I wasn’t ready for the show, honestly. Not physically, not emotionally. I knew the sort of strength it would take to go, to prepare for that catharsis. I’d been struggling with a re-emerging back injury for a few months that left me immobile for awhile. This gave way to infections and lethargy. I’d wound up in the ER just prior to flying out and my emotions were a bit scattered and dark. I flew to Chicago in a very delicate state but, as the children of the Zodiac are wont to do, I went ahead anyway.
The show hit you physically, full on. The opening lines of “Astronaut” nearly knocked me over. The acoustics of the Metro are amazing. The performance outlined the sacrifices one must make to get to the next city, because deep down you know someone has been waiting their whole life for their moment with you, the songs and the stage–that in those things, in that time, you can change their life, remind them they can feel, TEACH them how to feel, inspire them to keep searching for that peace.
Returned to my room, ordered an $11 pint of cherry-vanilla Häagen-Dazs and a $15 glass of Merlot and fell asleep with the windows wide open. Late-check out was no problem.
Birmingham, Alabama, March 24th-25th, 2009
Hotel: The Sheraton Birmingham
Budget after initial cost: $300
Other attractions: Amanda Palmer at Workplay, sauna, jacuzzi
The Sheraton was the nicest hotel I could find in Birmingham and the staff were extremely rude and unhelpful. Their pricey on-site spa, Je Spa, never responded even though I called ahead. [I would have linked to them, though I found their site to be extremely unhelpful, but their site has been mysteriously taken down.] I asked the concierge to find me a decent spa within a reasonable distance from the hotel. Even after checking “the Google” she informed me she couldn’t “fill my request.” So much of the building was under construction I was walking through concrete dust every 10 feet. There were basically two wings: the shitty-under-construction wing [Atrium] and the executive you’re-staying-here-for-a-week-and-paying-$1000-a-night wing [Tower].
View outside the shit wing of the Sheraton Birmingham
On the plus side their room service menu was decent, with a nice wine selection and some of the best red velvet cake I’ve ever had. The breakfast was also amazing. Their standard amenities were mediocre and I opted to use my own products instead. The pool and jacuzzi were quiet for my entire stay and the sauna was perfect for doing extreme yoga in the morning.
Workplay was a mediocre venue though thank god you could still smoke inside. Their bartender was a dick. He informed me that because I was a “Yankee” I automatically received shittier treatment. I thought he was joking until he actually, you know, served me. What the hell? I still tipped even though he kept a shotgun on the wall next to a picture of his sister and smelled like home fries. Fuck you.
I managed to meet a few nice people but mostly I could have done without–which is odd for an Amanda Palmer/Dresden Dolls crowd, I usually find them very inviting.
The show itself seemed a bit forced–Amanda was still in the middle of an extreme emotional roller coaster between her personal life, professional career and record label. She was alone on stage, no longer surrounded by the literal orchestra from December, radiance rapidly diminishing. She spent a good portion of the show on her Blackberry twittering and checking text messages. [Which would have been fine if it'd served as a better distraction to me personally, but really just irritated me.] When she did perform she gave everything she had, as she always does. She was angry and it dripped from the stage; sure as her hair was dirty and her voice was shot. The set list was a repeat from December. Yet in stark contrast to the bright white of the Chicago was the bleak grey of this–each song covered in desperation and thinness. I raised my arms in the hope that should she fall, I might be able to catch her.
Between the emotional drain of the show and my terrible health, by the time I returned to my room I was dizzy. I fell asleep sitting up watching Judge Judy re-runs. Early check-in and a late check-out wasn’t a problem. I’ve found that in this terrible economy these things tend to be easier since there’s no one there to fill up the rooms anyway.
Chicago, May 29th-31st, 2009
Hotel: The Hotel Monaco
Budget after initial costs: $600
Other attractions: Kill Hannah/Nine Inch Nails afterparty at the Double Door, Dark Wave Disco at Crobar, shopping on Michigan Avenue [H & M, Coach and Water Tower Place], shopping on Belmont [The Alley], new tattoo at Windy City Ink, the Pick-Me-Up cafe, self-reflection on the Ferris Wheel, fireworks over Navy Pier
I was excited about the Hotel Monaco. I really was. The boutique-y style was endearing, the amenities seemed nice and they offered a complimentary goldfish [!!!] upon request to your room:
My goldfish, Byron, courtesy of the hotel. He's a romantic.
I remained excited even as I opened the door to my room, finding leopard print bathrobes [again, !!!] and a feather bed to die for. The bathroom seemed a little small and quite mediocre for such a nice hotel. I passed out being beat the fuck up from a 6 a.m. flight and two days worth of sleepless nights.
I scanned the room service menu upon waking and found it not only to be extremely limited in what they offered but also the hours they offered it. They were rude [and, frankly, ignorant] when I called and ask if they could accommodate my dietary needs. [I'm a vegetarian who avoids fried foods and refined carbs and sugars.] They had an on-site restaurant in conjunction to the room service kitchen and neither one seemed to understand the concept of putting butter, bread and cheese on a grill after I’d exhausted my other options. They did have a grilled vegetable panini which sounded entirely unappetizing but I’m quite sure they failed to understand how this could be possible. I spent most of my time either not eating, having pizza or hitting the 7-11 across the street at 4 a.m.
The turn-down service was nice and they had huge fizzy bath balls to put in your bathwater, which I took advantage of even at $7 a hit. The aromatherapy was relaxing.
Inside the Monaco, 17 seconds upon arrival.
The view, however, was not. I had a spectacular shot of an enclosed rooftop and piegon shit. The hotel’s location was perfect, just one block off Michigan Avenue and their after hours front desk/door staff were super nice and helpful. Their concierge however, was not. He was a short, squat man who spent most of his time sitting in a velvet chair and not helping me when I called to ask where there was a nearby tobacco shop that sold Nat Sherman Ultra cigarettes. It took him 3 seconds to tell me “he didn’t know” but, thanks to the door man downstairs, I found one a few blocks down.
There was a hosted wine reception before the after party which looked more elegant than I expected. After, the Double Door was, well, the Double Door and Kill Hannah debuted some new material from their upcoming, as-yet-untitled album due in August. They were obviously studio-weary yet eager to beta test some of their work on a live audience. The crowd was typical: the same people backstage, in front of the stage and side stage, with Jonny being a noteable exception. This was a very, very last minute trip and there were a lot of familiar faces. Some of the new mixes sounded good, courtsey of John Bourke of Trash Yourself! out of Oklahoma City.
After that was a short, not-so-sweet swing by Crobar for the after-after what-the-fuck-ever with Dark Wave Disco before back to Monaco to pass out in a pint of coffee flavored Häagen-Dazs. [Literally.] The rest of the weekend was a blur of train riding, shopping and tattooing [courtesy of Gary Parisi of Windy City Ink - stellar people, stellar work].
Early check-in’s and late check-out’s were not a problem, neither was holding my bags from 12 p.m. – 5 p.m. But by far my biggest complaint about this hotel was their epic fuck up in withholding nearly quadruple the amont of deposit they were supposed to for incidentals. Even though I told them twice I’d already paid for the room they held my room cost plus the deposit, then after I’d angrily pointed out their mistake, informed me that since it was a weekend I likely wouldn’t get my money back until at least the following Wednesday, therefore stamping a “royally fucked” over my large shopping plans.
Next up? Seattle and possibly St. Louis. This long ass update brought to you by: coffee, cigarettes and bitterness.
[In short: I'M FUCKING HUMAN, I HAVE TO LIVE!]
