I was never really part of any of the various incarnations of the Otter’s band but in the beginning, I was always around. If there could have been a tambourine, I might have been the tambourine guy…although I didn’t sing either. I did get to scream during the Linda song, an honor bestowed on me because I almost dated her. I really don’t remember too much about her except the fact that her eyes were the size of Frisbees behind those coke bottle glasses.
Perhaps I was a groupie. It was a tough job but I burden I bravely bore. The fact of the matter, I somehow ended up with the band in some of the worse places. The first gig I remember was a “Lock In.” I should of known by the name that being “Lock in” denotes “not being able to escape.” We were “locked in” with a church group. The band was Gas but not the classical type. The group prayer that was forced upon us wasn’t so bad until one of the Otters started spewing guacamole. “F ME!! F ME!!” I don’t remember much that day except for the fact that on the same day we saw “Rocky III” in Lexington Park’s one theatre.
Then there was the bar down near St. Marie’s college. The bartender was desperate to bring in business because it was summer. I remember the one customer in the bar complaining that we were too loud and Mark explaining that you couldn’t turn down an amplifier.
Then there were gigs in Mark’s garage where I was so bored that I had to resort to a: conducting psychological warfare in Mark’s mom’s aviary (did I eat one of the eggs? I can’t remember); b: sneaking off to watch Mark’s dad’s porn; or c: booby trapping Mark’s room.
Speaking of the booby traps… I really can’t remember what I did. I remember that once I propped up Mark’s bed so that when he unpropped it, it would set off a can of his shaving cream. He disarmed that one with a gracious nod to my creativity.