 There are a few massage chairs on these ferries. Stick a buck in 'em and two mechanical "hands" run their bony knuckles up and down your back for 3 minutes. It's fun for the first 30 seconds, until you notice British Columbians walking past you murmuring "tourist" under their breath. Anyone who's tried these chairs knows you don't waste more than a dollar on them. They know your vertebrae get silently pushed out of sequence with every passing metal knob. They know you're trying to relax but can't as your skin is dragged from your neckline to the bass of your back, and vice versa. When the ordeal was over, I sat motionless for at least half an hour, terrified to move for fear I couldn't. Imagining what it must be like to be Christopher Reeves. Deciding I would tell my husband to leave me and free himself of this baggage he was tethered to. Eventually, I drifted into sweet sleep.
| home | gigs | bio | photos | press | chatroom | discography | audio/video | merchandise | links | |