END OF TOUR DIARY - Lisa "Suckdog" Carver - DRUGS ARE NICE
I think the past three days were some of the most fun I've ever had in my life. After Philly, we drove to DC in the rain. The worker girl at the club was mean. She didn't know about any reading show thing, acted indifferent and grumpy. The show was great and consisted of Faith and Jude as the opening act - a hippy-looking man played guitar while he and a rastafarian angel woman sang strange, sometimes political ditties; a band who's name escapes me, but who's chaos and costume reminded me a bit of Les Georges Leningrad; Dame Darcy, myself and then Lisa's reading, which ended in complete chaos with the audience getting upheaved, chairs getting knocked over, and skirted asses getting exposed. I guess I might as well say it now, because it's no secret anymore - the grand finale of the reading is a pizza getting pissed on. The grumpy girl bought one of my CDs and her whole attitude changed, until she found out that I was the wig-donning pisser. She then wouldn't talk to me anymore, and complained about having to throw the rug away. I felt badly, until Lisa told me she'd paid $100 bucks for that moldy-assed tarp of a carpet. The LEAST we could have done was pissed on it.
Drove back to Philly in the pouring rain. For some reason, it took us about 15 hours to get home. We stayed at "Lisa" actor Paige Steel's house; who, in addition to being a gracious host and complete saint of a person, did a terrific, magical portrayal (in both DC and Philly) of Lisa in her crazier days. Her house, with three levels, a summer melon-colored couch, shelves full of classics, and a (clean) refrigerator stocked with Limonata and grapes, reminded me of what it must be like to have a normal life.
In the early afternoon, we drove back to NYC, enlightened by a soundtrack of rain, cellphone chatter and Bobby Sherman hits. Later at KGB Bar in NYC, I arrived fashionably late to a packed room with a $65 ticket in hand for riding my bike on the sidewalk. I tried to argue with the cop, but he was too fat and complacent in his cop magesty to understand. There was no stage to perform on, so I stood on the padded seat to play my songs. My set went well, and after my set, the sketches and Lisa's reading went as planned. There was no stage, so the pizza box was put atop a table.
A healthy urine stream douched the table, cleared out about a quarter of the room, and certainly cleared the table. I've never seen five people get up from a seated position so fast in my life.
Later, at the afterparty in Galapagos, another "Lisa" actor, Anna, "Costes" actor Andy (who was brilliant and hilarious as Costes) and myself had a wrestling match covered in ketchup, as Anna and I engaged Andy in a hostile and aggresive pants removal operation. I believe my butt and perhaps a breast got exposed.
The pizza scene got all messed up, so the grand finale was basically "GG" getting a complete golden shower. I was completely sober as my whiz rained down on GG's bare stomach, and was so delighted by the organic chaos of it all, I was bent over, crying actual tears of laughter and ecstacy. And as an homage to the fleeting moments of pure, free, unhindered emotion that are so seldom in my life, I washed the ketchup off my hands in the waterfall of my own waste. My boyfriend still refuses to speak to me over all of this, though I concede that it was a beautiful mess of art and human expulsion.
The best part of the evening was later when I came out to perform some songs with my guitar (and a different outfit). The sound man came over to me and said, "I'm really sorry about this all." I looked at him dumbly. "What happened?" I asked, scrubbing wads of paper towels across the dewy floor boards. "You didn't see what happened? Well, someone pissed all over the stage," he said. "Punk rock!" I exclaimed with a twinkle in my eye, as a purple ketchup-covered wig lay snuggled, mangled in my bag, backstage.
Buy Lisa "Suckdog" Carver's book, "Drugs Are Nice" and try, if you can, to live a life a little less confined.