Our pick up show at 1pm was great. We had played last year and it was nice to see a familiar place. The downtown area of Doylestown I thought was charming. We hauled our PA in since theirs was out of commission. I thought I could fix it but that thing was helpless. Joanne, who we have been staying with, came and brought some friends and there were some locals. Fun show overall there at The Zen Den. They had a cool mini piano there that I wanted to tinker with SO badly but there was a piece of paper instructing everyone not to because it was old win thy round. Funny how my desires were flanked by a simple measly piece of paper with something chicken scratching on it.
You never know who you'll meet. Apparently there was a lady there that worked for an entertainment article for the area thAt took a liking to us. She was great, and her name was also Joanne. As you'll see in a following paragraph the East Coast is full of them (Joanneses).
Let me give an insight into my character. Initially since it was last minute we were playing for tips. Plus they had another act they booked weeks before. At the end of our show we received a stack of money. At first I thought they were tips so I thought, "heeeeell yeah", but then since the booker wasn't there I thought that they had confused us for the next band. One part of me was thinking "take the money and run! You're on tour from LA, you should be getting paid anyhow!" Other influences said "the other band is local anyhow they don't need the money!" It was all making sense to me. I wanted to take it truth be told. Plus for a business it would've been chump change! Despite all my illusions of taking advantage of this and making off with some cash, my over developed sense of conscience stepped his fat ass in the way. Truth is I couldn't walk off with that money that wasn't mine and having made a verbal contract. So I walked up to the counter and asked if they had mistaken us for the other band. To my surprise the cute girl behind the counter said the one to give us the money was a manager and he was aware that there were two bands performing. BONUS! Looks like we ended up with the money anyhow.
On the way home the van sounded like it was going to crap out on us again, but we trekked on to a restaurant called Wawa. It wasn't even a restaurant, it was like a 7/11 and they had this AMAZING sandwich shop there. Philly cheesesteak, sautéed onions, roasted pepper, Parmesan, with fresh tomatoes and spinach aaaaauuuummmmmm, so damn good. At a gas station! Are you fucking kidding me! Craziness. Anyhow, If you're traveling by, stop here. Later I found out they are known for there Mac and cheese.
We got back to Joanne's place and she had prepared a table full of appetizers. Some friends started joining in one by one. One lady we met was hilarious. She had some great commentary. So much so Tiff was raving about making a book of her quotes called, Insights by Joanne. Seriously, I would buy it. And with that I've decided that the East Coast has the highest concentration of Joanneses in the United States and perhaps the world.
Over fed, tired, and happy.
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