Waiting for FedEx...and the Repo Man

You know that saying, "Man cannot live on bread alone"? Yeah. Well, that guy didn't know what he was talking about. I've got $30 and no job, so, if I'm lucky, I'll be living on bread alone. If the going gets rougher, we'll find out if man can live on eggs and ramen alone, which, by the way, I'm sure he can, even though by the end of 2 weeks, he ends up looking like a scurvy ridden pirate whose hair is falling out.

So. We're back. 1800 miles later, we're home, and, as always, coming back to San Francisco is everything it's cracked up to be: all our friends, all our responsibilities, all that foggy goodness. I meant to write this puppy yesterday, but we got in at 6 in the morning, and with U-hauls to return and folks to be seen, the computer just didn't seem like a great idea. A day later, a few dollars thinner, it's the bee's knees.

Now, something about the album:

In the truest birdmonster fashion, we actually finished mixing it on the road. You see, our mastering date was yesterday at 10 a.m., and, because we had a tiny change or two that still needed to be made, we wrangled Brad for one last day of work. He made a couple tiny but necessary changes and emailed us the mixes so we could listen on iPods or in the car. The problem was, well, we were in the middle of the goddamn desert with no computer and, by the time we made it home, any comments we had would be useless, because the album was being mastered a couple hours later. So, what's a band to do? Well, what they do is drive into a coffee shop with wi-fi, pray that somewhere there has a Macintosh and a soft spot for a bunch of crusty looking birdmonsters, and lets them download the songs onto his/her computer. And you know what? It worked. We cruised into this pachooli-smelling cafe people by folks who were taking a break from...whatever it was they were doing...to play hackey-sack or twirl those weird pole things that hippies like and began looking for some kindred spirits. We found Staci, who I think was neck-deep in some sort of essay and was quite happy to let us give her a break and download the two files we needed for our ride. So, Staci, if you're reading this, you need to know you saved our collective ass and we thank you.

And like that, the CD was done. We got back into the car and the changes Brad made were perfect and we called him and told him he was our guru and savior and then he went in yesterday and had it mastered and it's being sent out to us today for delivery tomorrow. Of course, I'll hopefully be temping or something tomorrow so I don't have to test the above mentioned egg-and-ramen hypothesis, but if I'm not, I'll probably just sit on my front stoop waiting to descend upon the FedEx guy when he comes. I already feel like Calvin when he ate all those Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs so he could get the propeller beanie and he spends the next six weeks salivating outside his mailbox. The good thing is that I only have to wait a day and what we'll be getting is far better than a propeller beanie. Well, maybe not far better. I mean, those things are hot.

And, before I go, I must say this for not the first time and certainly not the last: Brad, you rule. Thanks for working harder than a Myanmar prostitute for the wages of...a Myanmar prostitute. Without you, God knows what this record would sound like. Probably like us recorded on my mom's old answering machine. We love you, your house, your work, and your cats. Mazel Tov.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sit on the street corner and beg for dimes. Hope to see you there.