Radisson Plaza Hotel at Kalamazoo Center

Dear Adam,

Sorry about the surliness of that last missive. You caught me at a bad moment. "Angriest lesbian in New Hampshire"? Did I really say that? Jesus. My apologies.

Believe it or not, my mood actually got worse before it got better, despite the remarkably painless and even kind of pleasant (!) border crossing. Traffic coming into Montreal was shit sandwich, and it took me a while to figure out the trick to dealing with it, which is just to accept that every driver is making his own lane as he goes and I will too. Trés Euro. We loaded in and I left immediately for the hotel, a very swank Hyatt I'd Pricelined for cheap, where I took a bath and lay down in the cool dark for a couple hours while John dealt with merciless label representatives.

At that point, finally, I started to feel better. That Montreal was experiencing its first real day of spring helped, as the urban tableaux corresponded precisely to my previous experience of this most continental of North American cities. Which is to say, nobody was wearing any clothes. Me likee Montreal. The show was good, but weird, and again in a most European way: the crowd was polite and attentive and provided almost nothing in the way of feedback until we were done, at which point they demanded two encores. Not coincidentally, we played poorly, our worst set in a good long while, until the very end, which was (surprise) pretty great. An odd night.

Long drive next day to Toronto, where traffic was again shitty, but at least they drive like Americans (badly, but predictably). And we heard "Safety Dance" on the radio. It was a good omen. The Toronto show ruled, Adam. Lee's Palace, where I saw Soundtrack of Our Lives a few years ago, is as good a venue for playing as it is for watching, it turns out. Great sound, great people, great crowd, and our best set since the Knitting Factory. A wonderful night. And we got to see our old friends Liz and Danielle and John finally got to meet Herman, who was in top form. Toward the end of the night, I actually heard Lee's production manager Gordon, who could have walked straight off the set of Strange Brew, actually say "Beauty!" Too perfect.

Another ball-busting drive to Kalamazoo yesterday, where we arrived on empty, literally and figuratively both. Which was too bad, because Kalamazoo punches all my buttons. It is so Rochester. And the hospitality provided by the people at the Kraftbrau was of a sort we've rarely encountered outside of St Augustine, Florida. They sent us away with jugs of brewed-on-site beer! Jugs, Adam! Good show, too. How is it that we draw twice as many people in Kalamazoo, Michigan as Montreal, Quebec? WTF?

Phone call from Wanette at three in the morning last night informing me that her mom and sister, who were originally going to show up on Saturday for W's commencement, were in fact on the road already and due to arrive this morning, and that her mom, indeed, is intent on coming up to Chicago for the show tonight. Why is the entire world conspiring to give me a nervous breakdown, Adam?

My phone was useless in Canada for anything but text messaging, and my email was down for three days. It was a fucking blessing. When I get home I am going to bury my phone and computer under a pile of laundry and retreat into the woods for a month. It is going to be awesome.

Yr hmbl & obt svt

PPH