My Week In Review

Oh my goodness it has been quite the week. I have traveled the onerous changing of time zones, long drives, late nights and far too much stimuli. Waco; San Antonio; Dallas; Lubbock; Albuquerque; Phoenix; Barstow; San Diego---a cavorting quest across the savage desert of the United States. In each and every city we have played I have had the honor of seeing good friends, making the distance I feel being away from home tolerable. Waco was a great show; a warehouse packed full of enthusiastic kids who danced about the floor like carnival acts. I spent 2 days at my brother’s house in Austin, joyously playing with his gargantuan Labrador and devouring the lavish feasts from some of my favorite restaurants in the country. We visited the Alamo, stayed awake until the wee hours in Dallas playing beer pong, had a relaxing day off in Lubbock with friend, partied on the 3OH!3 bus in New Mexico, got in an accident with a distrait semi truck driver, munched on massive pizza pies in Phoenix with our amazing friend PJ, met the members of duck duck goose in Barstow who kindly housed all 3 bands, and ventured into the locale of southern California to play a house show that was published in the local newspaper. It really is too much to tell. This is one of the seldom times where I cannot convey my brain operation through my fingertips. I am sorry. But one day I will be telling these stories to my grandchildren in front of a fireplace with steaming hot chocolate and a dog asleep at my feet. Until then, ask questions and I will answer them in a staggered manner. Mahalo

December 5

I woke up to the warm beams of light cast down upon my body in dignified measured lines like notebook paper; the effort of the auspicious sun pushing its thawing energy through the closed blinds and massive frozen window next to me. I rolled up my sleeping bag—careful not to wrap up any of the junk littering the rest of the bed—and dragged my sleepy legs through the trampled yard to our van. Flattened beer cans and smashed plastic cups lay lifeless in the dewy frozen matted turf, as if a herd of giant marching centipedes in rain boots passed through during the course of everyone’s slumber. I fumbled from house to house identifying my band mates in the piles of sleeping bodies everywhere, calmly waking them and advising them to hop in the van; it was time to start our drive to Lafayette, LA. We graciously shook hands with those who were awake early enough to bid us adieu and thanked them for housing such an unforgettable event. The drive was a straight path West, through the lush wooded trees of Mississippi and onto the elevated roadways of Louisiana, towering high above the swampy stale marsh on sturdy columns like birds nests in elm trees. I watched as the sun slowly burnt away over the Earth’s wet silhouetted ocean, its rays dancing about the glassy surface and then reflecting off as they dissolved into the milky clouds; the sun soon tucking itself behind the planet’s shroud and letting the moon take over. We arrived to the venue and loaded all of our equipment in and soon the other bands did the same. Soon the night would turn into the most incredible story of the tour, an outcome no one was expecting. The show ran smoothly and there was a comfortable back room for band members---and only band members. There was a dubious character hanging about, being very social with the bands and interacting like he had befriended the entire tour. As the night went on, he and his girlfriend inhabited the backroom and came and left from it like they were in a band themselves. After the show the guy was helping us load out and I had a bad feeling that some of the items he was grabbing weren’t exactly making it to our trailers. I ran back into the band room and realized that 2 laptops were missing (yes, one was mine…stolen twice in a week!) and there was a bass guitar and backpack missing as well. I warned everyone outside to look for the items and the first place we thought to check was the car belonging to the irregular character hanging about. Robbie from Heavy Heavy demanded that the guy pop his trunk so we could inspect. After much hesitation from the character, force was used and we made him show us his trunk. There it was…the bass guitar sitting atop a twisted pile of clothes like a prized jewel. Busted. Robbie and Thuggy charged for the kid and knocked him down into a pile of leaves, pummeling him with fist and foot repeatedly as his sturdy frame whimpered in, deflated by the assault of strikes. I knew my laptop and the other missing items were somewhere to be found, so I watched with satisfaction as the kid was nearly being broken in half. I could feel the vibrations in the ground from the wet fleshy thud of each punch. I felt so satisfied that justice was being served and wanted to orchestrate the slaughter for hours. I despise anyone that calls someone a friend and then steals from them. He deserved every bit of damage my friends were giving him. Soon a policeman who was running security for the dance club next door came over and asked us what was going on. He was the size of a pro wrestler and had the short patience of one as well---so when the kid was not cooperating with his questions he handcuffed him and threw him to the ground. We were all surprised and very satisfied that even the police knew that beating him up was the only way to teach him a lesson. We found the laptops buried in leaves next to his car and the backpack in his car. All items were retrieved and we left quickly with permission from the authorities that had the kid in the back of a squad car bleeding and defeated. Too bad the film crew for Cops wasn’t there, it would have been quite the spectacle for all of America to see.

December 4

I have to thank all our friends in Auburn, AL for putting the “party” in house party. I was slightly ambivalent before our arrival of playing the show, knowing that we were to be performing outdoors and it had been morbidly raining all day. We pulled up into a cul-de-sac of woody cabin-like party houses, nestled between solid towering trees and a hilly cemetery with worn headstones jutting out of the ground like abscessed teeth. We were warmly greeted by an eclectic group of the cul-de-sac’s inhabitants, college students with firm handshakes and an earnest enthusiasm to show us a good time. The plan was to set up our equipment in the main yard facing the cluster of rustic student houses, isolated by the vacancy of the graveyard and massive empty field behind where the party would be held. The outdoor stage was composed of large plastic pallets stolen from a grocery store, which plotted the wet leafy ground like hopscotch boxes. They had hammered together a drum riser about knee high with left over wood from broken furniture that had not gone into the fire pit yet, and had us run power from the kitchen of the house across the yard. The whole operation was beautifully provisional. In order to evade the constant light drizzle of unfortunate rain, we hoisted up a large plastic tarp over the yard and tied it overhead to the loose branches of trees in the surrounding---making the whole façade of the stage’s completion look like a junk yard jam festival. It felt like we were erecting the set of some scene in a teen movie; live bands and kegs with the clamor of an abstruse drunken crowd sloshing about the wet yard nodding their heads and swirling their hips to the commotion. As the sun was setting and students were finishing up any remaining homework before bleaching their brains with keg beer, the first band took the makeshift stage and let out a booming electric wail. The party had begun. Kids started showing up with briefcases of canned beer and oversized plastic bottles full of miscellaneous liquors. The cavort commenced and we all played long into the night. It was a beautiful scene; the deep sea of onlookers clenching their ruby red plastic cups, swaying back and forth in wonderment to the crunchy sound of live music as their breath rose up into the cool ebony sky forming a hazy liquor-soaked cloud above the ivory beams of shop lights. The jubilation eventually was thwarted by the arrival of campus police, who encircled the scene and yelled demands for the bands to stop playing; their hands cupped around their squawking mouths as if they were performing duck calls. We cut the music and sadly wound up cables and packed the gear back into our trailers, but the avidity of the audience would not perish. The crowd stayed and did not follow the police as they withdrew. I ran behind the stage and put on some dance music at a reasonable volume and the festivities resumed. For the rest of the night I walked around the setting with a massive smile stretched across my face, elated with the fact that your college years are the best years of your life…and I get to celebrate them at dozens of colleges across the country--without the homework. It was about 4:30 a.m. when I decided that sleep should be next on the agenda so I wondered into one of the neighborly houses and found a spare bed buried in junk. I quietly pushed the mess aside, enough for me to stretch out my sleeping bag and fell asleep to the sound of some girls in the other room on acid listening to prog rock. Stay young college kids.

December 3

It was the first day off since we had left and our bodies were feeling it. We rolled into the tranquil town of Beverly Hills, FL around 2am, causing little disturbance to sleeping elderly in rows of single-story houses locked up and glowing with the calm light of humming television sets playing Matlock reruns. Adam’s Aunt and Uncle let us stay in a clean empty house they own, conveniently neighboring his sweet Grandmother; who requested that we drop our dirty laundry over the fence and insisted on washing it for us---having it clean and folded before our heads ever lifted from our pillows in the morning. We woke to the sizzling sound and smell of fried eggs, coupled with sausages, toast, coffee and cereal. It was the first time since I could remember being able to eat a well-balanced breakfast. Our agenda for the day was to eat, drink and rest and we did just that. We went over to Adam’s uncle’s house and played some serious garage ping-pong sessions while ogling over his shiny hog of a Harley motorcycle and sports car. We sipped on beers in his garage adorned in Nascar posters and tools hanging from the walls, and listened with smiling faces as he told us stories of his youth and the devilish things he had done for fun. “I sure went to a lot of bars and had a lot of drinks and came home with a lot of women. I never did come home with an ugly one though…but I certainly did wake up with a few.” ~Hilarious~ After a few hours over there they took us to a pizza buffet. $4.99 all you can eat turned from the best decision to the worst decision as we made passes back and forth from the buffet like worker ants. Dave tapped out at 20 slices of pizza, a remarkable accomplishment; beating anyone else by over twice the amount. We made it home and sprawled out all over the empty living room carpet, watching thriller movies and romantic comedies until we were all in hibernation. I love days off.

December 2

All 15 of us woke up at the same time and had the dire urgency to pee, a very inconvenient happenstance seeing as how there was only one bathroom we were all sharing. After the line (similar in length to a woman’s restroom line at a ballgame) dwindled down and everyone was washed up, we started the drive to Tampa, the final show in Florida. Jeff lives in a town called Winter Park, Fl; a jazzy conglomeration of fine shops and restaurants married with the hip urban feel of a college town. We navigated our dirty oversized van and trailer through the ornate streets like the RV full of redneck cousins that show up to a formal family reunion. On the way out I spotted a Pita Pit and got a sandwich almost the size of a watermelon; chomping down on it as I steered one-handed until we hit the interstate and pressed onward with a steady cruise control. We arrived at the Brass Mug, a simple bar with a stage that features free pool and $5 pitchers at happy hour. The clock struck happy right when we arrived there and I treated myself to several friendly games of free pool after we loaded in. It was a pretty normal night. The show ran smoothly and we all were packed into the bar, which unfortunately allowed smoking. There was no ventilation and towards the end of the night my vision was more blurred from the heavy smoke than if I had been sucking down the $5 dollar pitchers all evening. When we were playing I wished I were the guy in that band Slipknot that wears the gas mask on stage because that would have been the only way I could have comfortably breathed. After the show we said bye to our Florida friends and took a massive group photo with them next to the dumpster. We drove an hour or so to Beverly Hills, FL to spend our day off at Adam’s relatives. The next day would be very low key, but the perfect set up for how absolutely crazy the following 2 days were to be. Stay tuned.

December 1

December 1 was not a good day for me. The night before---after falling in dirty creek water, I arrived back at Orlando’s house to find my laptop missing. The whole day I felt so miserable. The idea that someone would come over to a party and socialize with people whose possessions they were planning to steal makes me sick. Stolen along with my laptop were our friend Jaki’s video camera and Dave’s hoodie. I couldn’t sleep after I had found out. Thoughts of peoples’ profiles were whizzing around in my head like rampant bees, buzzing and pricking my brain with their untrustworthy stingers. It was a case of mental “whodunnit?” that continued all night and to no avail. I woke up and finally called the search party off; those items were nowhere to be found in the house. Orlando promised that he would call everyone he knew and get to the bottom of the matter. He was very kind for letting us stay at his house and he felt very bad for being the host of such misfortune. After rolling up our sleeping bags and waiving goodbye, we went to eat lunch at this amazing restaurant called “Mellow Mushroom”; a psychedelic infused atmosphere with a menu full of delicious pizzas and sandwiches. I tried to stay hopeful as I waited for my gargantuan sandwich to arrive, sucking back a few strong beers like tears in the process. They had this massive mural of Dr. Gonzo and Raul Duke from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas tearing down the savage desert of Eastern California in the red shark, but the characters were mushrooms with twisted eyes and limbs; one of the best paintings I have ever seen. The drive to Orlando, FL was easy and I jotted down some things in my notebook since I had no laptop to capture them. We played a club called the Social---a well-kept and hospitable venue very familiar to us. It is right on this drag of bars and restaurants with towering downtown buildings just further down. It is so interesting to walk the streets and see the wild mix of people interacting together there. You can count on seeing slick business-suited men with shiny penny loafers waiting at stoplights next to the hunched over crumpled souls of the homeless, jabbering quietly to themselves through their crooked yellow teeth or Bluetooth cell phones. None of these people came to our show, but they could be found at any time weaving in and out of the businesses like construction cones. I was delighted when some of the kids from Gainesville arrived at the show with all 3 stolen items. They had found the crook, a female that I remember vividly showing up to the house the night before. They said she was known as the “klepto” of Gainesville, and finding her guilty of such injustice was not hard to do. So thankfully I am now back, plugging away at my keyboard with an appreciation for all those who helped me get it back. The show was a lot of fun and there were some really cool Fear fans there that we talked with. When we play the Social we always eat at this tasty pizza place connected to it, and we did just that; munching away at gooey slices of thin crust and listening to the diverting stories of passing vagabonds. We stayed with our friend Jeff and his very attractive girlfriend in a single room with 2 cats and all 3 bands. It was quite the slumber party.

November 30

The day started off in a very lackadaisical manner. The drive from Jacksonville to Gainesville was short at best, leaving us another opportunity for a gregarious banquet of sorts. We all pooled our hungry cravings together and decided on Olive Garden---a place where you can feast on unlimited wands of buttery breadsticks and slurp up buckets of choicest soup and crunchy salad for the mind-boggling price of $5.95. I felt very tired and dizzy; the inside of my head bobbling around like a buoy upon wind-kissed waves. I had been up until the stiflingly late hour of 5am yet again, putting my body and mind through more taxing endeavors than a “ninja warrior” obstacle course. We all arrived at the restaurant with the teeming stench of starchy motel blankets and porous liquor fumes, ready for endless indulgence in Italian dining. The two waitresses were very kind and tended to our group like butlers, bringing armfuls of ice water and specified bowls of soup and salad repeatedly. After gorging ourselves like the Renaissance era, we left the two kind souls a hefty tip and a CD to jam out to. So if either one of you is reading this right now, know that we thoroughly enjoyed your service haha. After eating, I hopped in the van and sprawled out on the plush floor mattress like a sugar glider in aerial descent. I slept for the whole drive and woke up to the jolting reverberations of the trailer being unloaded. Gainesville was dreary rainy and cold. The whole night I did not feel like myself and just wanted to sleep. We played a very quaint little bar called “1982” which featured video games and cheap beer, two of my favorite things on Earth. We got real weird on stage and wore costumes; Goose jamming on the drums with a batman ski mask and I with my Mexican wrestler mask and sombrero; Dave wore his Halloween outfit---a power outlet costume and buggy sunglasses. We met some kids at the show and they knew someone with the ironic name of Orlando who had a house that all 3 bands could stay at. We loaded the equipment up hastily and drove in a massive caravan as long as a funeral procession to his house. We had a great time hanging out with our new friends and eating pizza in the kitchen listening to Queen. Orlando’s house was surrounded by thick twiggy marsh and we learned of a nature trail that started just outside of his driveway, continuing for a mile or so and leading deep within the canopy of towering trees. A group of 12 of us decided to investigate the trail. We grabbed a couple miniature mag-lights and ventured blindly into the inky black caverns of the wet forest. I had never been anywhere so dark. The few lucky explorers that had flashlights navigated the way as the rest of the followers tripped over brittle twigs and twisted vines that tasseled your feet like snakes in tar. Our quest was halted when we came to a flooded muddy creek, but our determination could not be extinguished. We found a fallen tree that bridged across the rancid water, a sure way across for any overzealous team of night navigators. We slowly mounted the fallen trunk and balanced individually, like a group of tightrope walkers in some savage forest circus. I had grabbed a can of ravioli from the house in case we got lost in the woods and needed food for the night, which was hanging heavily from the pocket of my sweatshirt. I traced the surface of the tree with the wet soles of my shoes, blindly pressing onward with the unwavering guidance of just a miniature flashlight clenched between my teeth and fickle twigs to grab onto. The can of ravioli inside my jacket was swinging over the ominous dark water, pulling on my balance like it was magnetic. Soon enough I was overcome by the power of the ravioli can and it caused me to plummet into the creek water like a boulder. I kicked with spasm-like thrusts and pulled myself out of the water, dripping wet and embarrassed. I managed to make it across on my second try and walked back to the house like a sorrowful soldier; the sounds of my squishy wet shoes and bantering jokes of my peers echoing in my head endlessly. I will never eat ravioli again.