Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Mile High Windy Sin City of Lights of the South

Here is the truth: I woke up 6:30 this morning because of a nightmare. This is my second nightmare on this tour. I know what is causing them. They are linked. The first nightmare involved everyone I cared about fighting against Lord Voldemort. Last night, I was fighting Dementors in my mom's car. They were sucking my will to live until I finally produced my own patronus.

Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Here is Denver. There is Kansas City. We'll start there.

I admit that when we rolled up to Club Mustache in Kansas City, I had my doubts. Soon, however, the folks who lived there welcomed us with a couple of cold ones and some of the most delicious burgers I have ever tasted (though, not as good as Mike's). But it didn't stop there. Every person I encountered in Kansas City, besides the dingus at the coffee shop, was incredibly friendly. The kids who came to the show walked up and said hello. Even the neighbors were nice!

Our friends in Giant Radio helped us with the show and they opened with a stripped down set. We played second. And friends, it was a much needed change of pace. People stayed and watched. A couple people seemed to even enjoy it! We played our little hearts out and had a terrific time, despite the heat. A Kansas City classic played after us, followed by an Arkansas band called Half Raptor, who were really good. But you know me. I hear Arkansas and I start rambling.

The next day, we woke up and left Chris's girlfriends house much smellier than it had been, and headed to Fairfield, IA. You might be asking yourself a question. That question has already been asked by Dillon's dad. "What could possibly be in Fairfield, Iowa?" The answer is, actually, a lot. For starters, we ran into Box-Car Kory, who was a part of our disastrous interview in Muncie a year ago. There is a strange university that is all vegetarian and believes in Eastern philosophy mumbo jumbo. There are also two brothers who run a venue called the Beauty Shop. And even though one of the brothers looked like some asshole I used to know, they turned out to be really cool!

Now, this show was opened by a dude who basically sang Karaoke to his own songs. It was fun, but weird. He was nice. But weird. Then we got up to play. Folks started to leave. It was looking grim. But the we channeled the spirit of Number 18 and produced the greatest comeback in Rodeo Ruby Love history. By the end of our set, the room was filled with dancing girls and boys. It was like the AFC Championship all over again.

The next morning, Kory and his wife made us some delicious breakfast and we said our goodbyes as we headed back to Nebraska to the capital of Lincoln. We got there pretty early so we decided to find a park and get our ball on. Once again, Kurt laid a pounding on us. We decided to call it quits when Dillon's shirt had shrunk two sizes because of all his sweat. When we got to Duffy's, the owner came out and welcomed us. Wowee! But even the owner's kind words could not have prepared us for the clusterfuck that opened the show. It wasn't that the band was bad (they were), it was that nothing made sense. It was like brushing your teeth with Cheez-Whiz while jumping on a trampoline in Guatamala.

But the people at the bar really liked us. And the last band were really nice! We didn't have a place to stay and even toyed with the idea of a hotel. But Dub, the guy who booked the show, invited us to stay at his place. Everything went swimmingly until Dillon reared his ugly head into the scene. Not only did he try to kiss every single person at the bar, but he also made us sit in a semi circle while he read to us some Dr. Seuss books. We arrived to where Dub lived, which turned out to be The Eternal House of Ganja. While we were there, at least a hundred people visited and left with red eyes and lighter spirits. I'd never heard of a contact buzz until that night. I ran to the van to get some snackies when I saw lil' ol' Dill take a spill down the hill. He was fine, just some scrapes. I picked him up and led him inside where he tried to kiss everyone there and ended up slow dancing with a giant cardboard cut out of Borat.

It was one wild night!

We woke up the next morning and said so long to our hosts in Lincoln and began the long journey to Denver. We stopped to get gas at one point to find a Burger King employee walking around outside, picking up trash, and singing some of our all time favorite tunes at the top of her lungs. This inspired us to start some sing alongs in the van, which I'm sure you'll be able to view on youtubes at some point.

Justin is going to show us around the Mile High Windy City of the South today on our day off. Just a few more shows until our ridiculous drive to the West Coast, where I'm sure we'll finally make it.

What happens to Dillon, is recounted on TOURBLOG!

P.S. Toy Story 3 on Friday? YES PLEASE!

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