My first work Monday in over a month happened to come on the heels of Bay to Breakers, which, if you don't know, is a day-long drinking binge disguised as a cross-city race that Kenyan folks always win. So I'm a little groggy. Tecate is a friend you do not betray.
We revisted our house-party roots this past Saturday, playing to a horde of Santa Cruz-ians who represented a variety of political and hygenic leanings. And let me tell you: they danced. Not the "I'm occasionally bobbing my head" dance favored by many a hipster, but full fledged bouncing, pogoing, and high-quality spazzing favored by the energetic, the innebriated, and the energetically innebriated. Any time you're invited to play a house with home-brewed beer, chickens, and an empty living room, you play it. That's the rule. It's in the book they give you when you first start touring, right after chapter 4: "If you must go fast food, just don't go Arby's." I'd show it to you, but it's like that book they give dead people in Beatlejuice; if you saw it, the whole balance of the universe would be upset.
Ok, so I'm babbling. It's because we've got a mellow week ahead of us as we book shows for the future, have a few loose practices, and deal with my first full work of gainful employment in a while. Should be fun. If you're around the city on Friday, come out and join us at 330 Rich, do a little dancing, and see some Birdmonster. If not, eat something pizza and watch Omega Man. You'll be happy you did.