As a Californian, it's impossible to drive through
New England without getting tree envy. Yeah,
we've got folliage, but most of it is caged in little
concrete cubes or imported from...wherever it is
palm trees come from. But, you know, I'm sure
when they visit San Francisco they get bridge-and
-bum-envy, so we're even.
Since we spoke last, we've had a couple shows,
but I pulled driving duty today, so I missed my
daily thumb-typing habit. I did, however, get
intimately acquanted* with the Whaleship Essex.
She's a fine vessel, with far more power than Sir
Patrick but none of Sir Patrick's style and grace.
Patrick Stewart, you might be smelly, leaky, and
have interior apolstery the color of rotten
cranberries, but goddamn I love you. I'm sorry we
have to cheat on you this month. She means
nothing to us. Nothing.
Soooo, Washington DC. Our erstwhile tourmates,
the Talk, had trailer issues back in Massachusets,
so the eight hour drive, for them, was an
impossibility. Rachel from Underrated Magazine,
who kindly set up our first NYC show, came
through in the clutch and found an opener on about
three hours notice. His name is Rob. As luck would
have it, we'd actually met Rob whilst bullshitting
at South By this year, at some back patio booze
-lounge. He gifted me a fraction of his band's
upcoming CD back then, which got devoured in
some merch box or another until I found it last
month. And let me tell you something: it's fucking
good. He did a solo, acoustic thing for the DCers
last night and, well, see my above assessment.
The Hard Tomorrows. Damn fine music. I tip my
hat to them. And, believe it or not, I'm actually
wearing one. It says "My Ex-Wife's Car Is a
Broom," and yes, I realize that's the stupidest hat
ever, but it was four dollars and hilarious on three
hours sleep. It was either that or one that said
"Obey the Princess." Actually, come to think of it,
perhaps I chose incorrectly.
My, my. We're getting tangential today, aren't
we? DC, DC: A goddamn ball. We played a few
extra ditties since the Talk were AWOL and gave
the tamborine to the best in-crowd tambo-shaker
thus far. You think I'm kidding? Let me tell you
something: we've been unlucky before. We've given
percussion implements to people who struggle with
the rhythmical complexities of "We Will Rock You."
So, Neil: you kick ass. He even got the stop in the
middle of Alabama. And some palm bruises too. At
any rate, the Black Cat is gorgeous and rather
generous with their free drinks and we just had a
damn good time. And on a Tuesday to boot. Any
town that gave humanity Fugazi and
Dismemberment Plan is alright by me.
The extent of our sightseeing in DC was driving
past the home our Pissant in Chief and the
Washington Monument, which, and I know this has
been said before by many people many times, but
it's just a giant stone dong. It's rather undeniable.
After driving through sporadic downpour and trees
trees trees, we reached Pittsburgh. And...well,
shall we just say it wasn't incredibly well
-attended? I've seen more people at a rec soccer
game. But who cares, right? We still ended up
sweaty and smiling, got a few bucks in gas money,
and some free turkey sandwiches I'd rather not
talk about ever again.
Since we rarely get any place in time to see
anything but the four block radius around where
we're playing, and since Pittsburgh was early (and
filled with thousands of rabid stalker fans, of
course), we've decided to drive to Ohio tonight.
Which is what's happening right now. So, fairly
unceremoniously, until then...
*there's no way I spelled that right. I do realize
that. This here machine is allergic to spellchecker.