That's that

We're nine hours deep in a twenty five hour drive,
coasting through the yawnfest that is West
Texas in the middle of the night. Once in a while,
you smell an oil rig or see a flattened armadillo,
but otherwise...pretty boring. Unless you like
counting mile markers. If you do: boy, do I have
the place for you.

The bad news is that we've got sixteen hours left
and that's if we make it through LA without
traffic, which would be a miracle on par with the
Second Coming or me enjoying a Kevin Costner
movie. We'll see how it goes. We're all a little
homesick though, and if you combine that with
coffee, in-car naps, and Graceland, we may not
stop at all. I say this at 1 in the morning, so
there's plenty of time to reconsider. For now:
onwards.

We finished our tour, appropriately, in Texas at a
Hell Ya! show, who were actually among our first
and most enthusiastic fans in the aforementioned
city of angels. We even got one of them up on
stage to help break my long suffering tamborine.
That poor thing was held together with two kinds
of glue and three kinds of tape and it got a proper,
destructive funeral. So to Ashley: thanks.
Although, when I go home and put on my Dr.
Frankenstein lab coat, who knows what might
happen. I owe it, I think, one more surgery.

While whiling away our last night in Austin, we got,
yes, the last mix of the last song from Brad, who
was fresh off a plane from Japan. Now, we
master this puppy on the 20th, and send it off for
printing. Then, all you fine folks who've purchased
them already will get new birdmonster in your hot
little hands, which has really been the idea all
along.

When we get back to the City, I'll get some of the
more amusing pictures together and share them.
For now, I'm going to chose some loud, sing-along
-y CD for Peter so he doesn't start going glossy on
me.

There'll be a good deal of new in the next few
weeks, so, hope to see you soon.