So I found a notebook at the venue in San Francisco. It is filled with lyrics of songs. They are gems. Here are a couple of my favorite lines (all typos and spelling errors have been left unedited for additional humor).
"Death is only the begining of your sufforing. Cursed from the start A wretched vermin is all you are Detestable Unsightly Vomit of unspeakable disgust." - In The Cemetary
"He spews out war & mass devastation disease & weapons of mass destruction. He'll swing his sickle bring World War 3 The final war that man will see." - Rider on the Pale Horse
"Innosence for Evil Surrender to the Darkness you can't resist (x3) the beckoning from hell." - The Woods (slow start)
"Chains chains chains stabbing at my brain. Chains chains chains driving me insane." - It turns my blood to Ice
"You think your neck is stiff? Try having rigormortice." -untitled
"I hunger for blood I smell it your veins" - untitled
A lot has happened in the last few days. Where do I start?
I suppose we put ourselves back in Myrtle Creek, OR (though none of us ever wants to see that place again). The all ages show went a little bit better than the 21+. Unfortunately, Larry had to attend a biker gang meeting and left his son in charge of the PA. Adrian had no clue what he was doing and he let us know as often as he could.
Still, we played for an actual crowd and sold a couple of things. We even made friends with band from Washington called Ashlynn. They are sponsored by the worst energy drink on the face of the planet. So, while they played, Kurt, Kyle, and I chugged about four bottles between us and tore up the dance floor. That's right. We moshed and flailed around like the young kids. But it was mostly the endorphins and the mood changing chemicals in the energy drink. When the effects started to wear off, Kurt had broken a hip, Kyle was having an asthma attack, and I got so delusional that I thought I was at a sock hop back in the local high school gym and started doing the twist with an underage girl.
That night we had the incredible pleasure of staying with Casey. He had just moved to Myrtle Creek with his family, and we were the first people he'd really talked to. I've never met a more chill guy who was so conscience about the things that he said. He made it very clear during our conversations that he might have different tastes than other folks but that by no means meant that he looked down on them. We sat outside by the warming charcoal fire until sleep could be staved off no longer.
In the morning, Mrs. Casey's Mom made us pancakes while Jim, the father, showed us some old guitars and told us some stories of his youth. We took off early because we wanted to see the Redwood forests. And see them we did! The Redwood forests in northern California are about 4% of what used to be in that area. It's the only bit of primary forest we have left. When we left Myrtle Creek, it was blazing hot. When we got to the forest, however, it was nice and cool. SCIENCE!!!!!!
After blasting away some storm troopers and beating up stupid, primitive Ewoks, we left good ol' Endor behind and made our way to the even more magical city of Eureka, CA. It was an emotional roller coaster of a day. Seeing the Pacific Ocean, seeing the giant redwoods, watching a cup of water spill onto my Subway sandwich. Tour is exhausting!
That night, we had the distinct pleasure of playing with Port Alice, who, besides doing a rip roaring cover of Boys Don't Cry, were complete dildos. They actually lived across the street from the venue and hadn't put up a flier or even bothered to tell anyone at their favorite get togethers. So once again, we played to any empty room. The bartender liked us! We finally made it!
We didn't have a place to stay. As we were deciding who to rip open and sleep inside their body for warmth, a lady asked us to give her a ride home. JACKPOT! We stayed with Crazy Amy. The details of that night are too juicy and too hot for this tourblog. You might just have to use your imagination. All I will say is that I climbed into a hot tub only to find out it wasn't plugged in. So I basically waded around in lukewarm water for 15 minutes (I also took my panties off).
The nice fellas in Ashlynn invited us to play in San Francisco with them the next day. The only thing we had planned was a 9 hour drive to a show at family BBQ restaurant where Dillon would be forced to play electronic drums. We decided to ditch the show and go to San Fran. . . cisco. Though we missed most of the festivities, there were still some remnants of Gay Pride Day left around the city. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, Barry Bonds, a crazy guy, and Danny Tanner. And you know what else? On the way down, it was hotter than a July crotch. But once we got to San Fran, the weather was extremely pleasant again. SCIENCE!!!!!
It was a metal show. We played first and there was actually a decent crowd. We didn't sell anything, but all of the other bands and most of the kids there came up to us and told us how much they liked it. Cheap little whippersnappers. But the show was a lot of fun. I got to see three guys do the windmill head bang with their hair in unison. I saw the bass player of the last band puke his guts out all over the stage. And the MVP of the night went to the dude who ran security. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. The gauntlets on his arms, the Taz patch on the back of his sock hat, and the graying fumanchu said it all.
After the show, we drove across the Golden Gate Bridge where I saw Mr. Crossover himself reciting anti-gay poetry in the shadows, surrounded by tweaked out meth heads, and we came to rest at Gaby's cousin's house. Which is actually an ark that they built into a house. Not joking. The actually ark. It sits on a muddy lake and you have to walk across a dock to get to their house. There, we had cold beer and spaghetti waiting for us. We decided to check out the hot tub (which was actually working this time), but not before Kyle and Kurt both took bracing shots of Absinthe. Their reactions reminded me of a movie I saw once.
Our record store show was canceled, so we have the day off in San Francisco. We wanted to go on a tour of Alcatraz, but everything is booked up. So we're just going to have to break into Alcatraz.
We have met the friendliest folks on this tour. Now if we could only get a good show to go along with it. Here's hoping!
Let's do a quick recap of Salem before we get to the good stuff.
We showed up to the venue that was adequately named "The Wasteland." No one was there, so I walked around looking for a bathroom when I stumbled upon a discount grocery store that had a large display of some old favorites that are no longer available around Indiana. It goes without saying that Alex snatched up the entire display and now our van is filled from ceiling to floor with the delicious salsa chips.
One of the other bands showed up. They seemed nice enough and we chatted until someone came to unlock the doors. Finally a large, red-bearded man drove up in his pickup truck and parked it right beside the door. And he sat in there for twenty minutes. Then he backed his truck up and straightened his parking job. He sat there for another ten minutes, put on a BMX helmet and batting gloves. And sat there.
Finally another pick up truck showed up and Brandon unlocked the doors for us while the bearded man got out silently and stalked inside after us. The Wasteland was well named because of its looks (a gutted out office building, dark, spray painted, just downright cruddy looking). But the smell was what drove the the point home. The first walk in gave your lungs a lovely mixture of mold and garbies.
Now, Kurt had some family out in Salem whom he had never met. He was reluctant at first but gave them a call eventually and told them who he was and what we were doing. Now, we later learned that Jim is a psychology professor and his wife is a school counselor for a local elementary school. And to see them, their daughters, and a couple of their friends huddling in the corner of The Wasteland was quite a sight to see. I wanted to offer words of comfort and solace, but I was just as uncomfortable as they were. This was a metal club. In between sets, they played very loud heavy music. Double bass and the low growl scream.
I won't go into detail about the other bands because they all left before we played and have since cursed their houses and families with one of the useful spells I learned from The Half-Blood Prince. But we played for Kurt's family and about three or four metal heads who actually seemed to enjoy it. Jim invited us to stay the night where we received lots of delicious things, a huge breakfast and turkey sandwiches for the road. It seemed like things were not looking so bad.
Then we headed south.
Sometimes the words I write in songs come to life. It's a very odd and strange feeling. And as we rolled into Myrtle Creek, OR, yesterday, it happened again:
How on earth did I get here?
I've never experienced anything quite like what happened last night. If you don't know, Myrtle Creek is a very small one road mountain town. So when we pulled up to the venue (Sweet Dixie), we knew immediately that we were in for something special.
That something special's name is Larry. He's the fella who booked us our show last night and tonight. He's kind of a mix between Larry the Cable Guy, Rodney Dangerfield, and that guy who sat in the back of the bus who kept trying to cop of feel from the blossoming teenage girls (especially Stefanie). Sweet Dixie was exactly what it sounds like: a mountain bar where everyone knows one another. And by everyone, I mean the nine people who frequent there.
The show opened with a guy named Dave playing covers on an acoustic guitar. He played very interesting songs like, "Voodoo Child," "The Weight," "Plateau," and some Alice in Chains song. I tried to listen respectively, but Larry made sure that that would not happen. You see, while Dave played his songs, Larry pounded away on a djembe. It would have been okay if he had just been keeping the beat. But he was PLAYING that drum. And sometimes he would stop playing in the middle of song to make a joke, usually a sexual joke at one of the lady's expense.
At one point he had tied his shirt into a sort of bra while making slurping noises into the mic and belching very loudly at the end of each verse. Kyle and I were dying with laughter during the entire thing. During the set, the audience members would walk in and out of the door right next to where Dave and Larry were sitting, yell something at Larry who would yell back, or just strike up a loud conversation as though there was nothing going on at the Sweet Dixie.
We were supposed to play second, but the girls who were to play after us decided that they would play second. So we sat there and watched as the few people walked outside and smoked, came in and made a joke, then left. We decided a lighter set might be called for, so I played Dave's acoustic and we played a very friendly set for Larry, the two girls that played, and one friend.
How on Earth did I get to Myrtle Creek?
When the show was over, Larry continued his antics and told us lots of stories, most of which ended with something like. . . "I'm terrible, ain't I?"
My two favorite quotes of the night is the subject of this post and something he said in the parking lot to one of the other girls.
"You were lost since you were born and I got a pocket full of change. No, most of it's buttons."
Larry invited us to stay with him at his trailer, but we declined and an anonymous donor got us a hotel for the night. After some gas station biscuits and gravy and chicken strips, we sneaked five dudes into one room that now has that old familiar smell. And we're hanging here until Larry calls. We are to go swimming in a river with him at some point today. And Lindi, the wonderful proprietor of the Sweet Dixie invited us back for a free dinner. Then, we have an all ages show four buildings down from that lovely establishment.
I apologize for the lack of jokes in the last few posts, but so many wacky things have happened that there isn't much more I can do that write them down.