Sorry.

Many apologies to everyone and myself for my prominent diffidence with my writing---the second half of tour was far too much fun and swept my studious behavior away like rats in a rainstorm. I am gratefully home now, after the taxing drive across 1/3 of America with a most fearsome winter storm nipping at our accelerating hindquarters. We barely missed getting buried in the dolloping blanket of foot upon foot of heavy snow, covering the western United States in frost like an Oreo cookie. On this arduous drive home I pounded out some thoughts and will virtuously elaborate on them in the next coming of days.

Thesis on how I am invincible and there is no challenge I cannot overcome

Evidence #1
It was a brisk night, infused with the kind of cold that steals your body heat away like a passing apparition grabbing at your soul. The desert of New Mexico offered no warmth from its sandy hills and cloudless sky; it sat there lifeless and frozen like a bad painting---vacant and void. We played at a venue called the Launchpad and it was embarrassingly empty. This was due to one reason and one reason alone…the mega-hype hip-hop gangsta-frat-boy sensation known as “3OH!3” was playing a free show down the street and drew all the local kids like toddlers to an ice cream truck. After we packed away our equipment and tucked away our disappointed furrowed brows, we quickly joined the masses in congregation---but with a different motive---two of our very best friends were on tour with 3OH!3 and we desperately wanted to see them. I drove our van to the event in drooling anticipation and parked it illegally; the tour bus idling in distant view. We ran up and shook them out of the bus like coconuts from a tree; exchanging high-fives and fine whiskey shots in the frosty parking lot as if it were a wedding reception. We all had such a jubilant time and the party moved onto the bus until the wee hours of the morning. I was Mr. Responsible and played the role of the designated driver, calmly sipping on a stale Budweiser can and catching up with my friends. Eventually the celebration ceased and we loaded back into our van, sadly bidding our friends farewell. I maneuvered our van through the city streets in destination to a distant motel en route to Phoenix with the erupting laughter from the back of the vehicle piping up and ricocheting around like a wild beast in a cage. We were about 40 miles away from the desolate Motel 6 when amidst the laughter and bedlam in the van comes a crashing thunderous pound on the passenger door and I realize there is a massive 18-wheeler semi-truck knocking us into the median and almost into oncoming traffic. Survival tactics are always dependable and I watched my limbs jolt and thrust in a mechanical reaction as our van slowed down, headlights flash, horn honk; swerving to the side of the interstate---my arm jolting out the window with a towering middle finger erected in the frosty desert air; intended for the negligent truck driver ahead of us. In complete fury and powered by the atavistic energy of adrenaline, I jolted to the driver’s side of the truck and pounded on the door like Luther, beckoning the evil soul to emerge. There is no feeling like almost dying with 5 of your best friends. “Did you see what you just did to us?!...you almost killed us you bastard!!!” “Well…I was trying to plug something in. I must have swerved”. I was so infuriated and irate. I wanted to grab him from the neck and toss him into oncoming traffic. Instead I ran to the nearest road sign to find our location and alerted the authorities, who sleepily arrived at the scene; taking pictures and reports as if people almost lose their lives all the time. The truck driver was issued a ticket (is there a fine for almost killing someone?) and our insurance information was exchanged---police report filed. Now I am sitting here on my bed talking to my insurance company trying to figure out how to milk this guy for all the money he is worth. I want to get paid for almost dying.