A belated and incredibly long history of the end of last week

Since we spoke last, loud shows have been played,
pancakes have been eaten, and Division Day have
been deported. Well, "deported" isn't the right
word. More like "never allowed into." The lesson:
Canadian border guards know all about Google, and
they will use it for purposes of evil.

But I get ahead of myself. We should start with
Seattle. And let me tell you, Seattle was a
genuinely weird experience. The sheer amount of
lunatic vagrants in a one block radius shocked all
four of us and, well, I was pretty sure San
Francisco was at least the West Coast's densest
hub of shitcrazy hobos. So, hats off Seattle.
You've won this round.

My favorite was an overweight lady---"lady" used
in the loosest sense of the word---who wore only
denim shorts, flip-flops, and a bikini top, and
wandered over to us slurring "I'm too sexy for this
shirt." Let it be known: I disagreed.

So we played Seattle, stayed in a motel and spent
the next driving to Spokane, doing a podcast dealy,
playing "Name that Bloke"*, and finally playing one
of those rowdy shows. I love those. The podcast
can be found here: www.spokane7.com (sorry I
can't do the html coding from here. Come to think
of it, we haven't been able to hear it yet, as we've
been computerless. David's cyborg soul is rusting).
All the folks who put on the show were
enthusiastic and helpful, so thanks for that, guys.
See the asterisk for the bloke, if you dare.

The next day, we split up from Division Day so
they could get Canada's front door shut in their
face and went down to the aforementioned castle.
Needless to say, we had the better day. Poor
guys. I really wanted them to bring us some funny
money too.

We've been having a blast with those guys, by the
way and enjoying their set more each night. This is
our first tour with the same band on the bill, night
in, night out, and we couldn't have chosen wiser.
Sure, they're all crazy, but it's a good crazy. More
"eccentric" than human-heads-in-your-freezer
crazy, for sure.

Which brings us, in a roundabout way to last night's
Portland show, which, truth be told, is probably
my favorite of the trip. We played in a cramped
dive with Spiderman playing cards for drink
tickets, a bar with no sound man, a dinner table
sized stage, but it was perfect. Both bands ended
up onstage with the other, slamming tamborines
into walls and bouncing around like idiots. People
from the instore we played showed up, and fliers
handed out on the sidewalk actually brought people
inside. A few friends of friends and blog reading
folk found that little whole in the wall too, helped
us close it down, and made us want to come back
to Portland as soon as we can. Then, why, back to
the castle of course, for slurred conversation and
sleep and the blessed absence of swordplay.

And now, we're driving. Saturday we play Chico in
the afternoon and a skating rink in San Jose at
night. I hope Rohner plays on rollerblades while
wearing a fannypack, but I doubt that'll happen. A
boy can dream.

This mobile internet thing just made a really
depressing, deflated sort of noise, so I'm out of
time. Be home soon, but for now, onwards.

* name that bloke is a thoroughly asinine game
without many rules. I think the only way it's fun is
if you've spent enough time in a van that your
brain begins devouring itslef. Basically, one person
thinks of a guy. Someone famous. And everyone
else guesses. Hints are disallowed. Games go on
for days. They're totally maddening.

Ryan's was Latrell Sprewell. We've been guessing
Brett's since Tuesday.