For some reason unbeknowst to even myself, I decided to go into the office for a half day. A smarter move would've been to sleep in, pack, finish the laundry, buy strings: all the trappings & errands of pre-tour life. But I came to work. Just till noon though, because we're supposed to be soundchecking at 3 this afternoon and 3's usually the time when I'm knee-deep in some Wikipedia article or, more often, hiding under my desk hoping my boss doesn't notice. I know that sounds sad, but don't worry: I keep plenty of Cheezits down there.
So, why wake up early? I would say I need the money, but regular readers will remember that I'm planning on coming into roughly 41 million dollars this evening, so that excuse is out. Some bizarre sense of obligation, perhaps? The same sense of obligation that requires I wake up at 7:30 only to spend my first half hour writing this blog, the next half hour hanging out in the kitchen, and the rest of the day hiding in my desk fort, eating fake cheese cracker snack'ems? That's probably it. Either that or I've developed a masochistic streak, which, if so, I promise to not take to its logical end (read: crotch-less leather chaps and a dog collar. Well, actually: let me think about the chaps). At any rate, I'm here. I'm working. Or will be in a couple paragraphs. Let's not nit pick, shall we?
I've learned from experience that the day before you leave for tour, or any big trip for that matter, has to be a good one. Your room has to be clean so you don't return to vaguely reeking filth; you have to have enough wine to get purple teeth but not enough to wake up with a headache; you have to eat food you're sure you're going to miss a week from now when you're in Ohio deciding between Subway, Bojangles, and a non-political hungerstrike.
Yesterday was, then, by the above criteria, a resounding success. I ate dim sum and pasta; the room is clean; I split a bottle of wine with my girlfriend; I carved a jackolantern. Even tried to see a show for free at Amoeba, but Badly Drawn Boy was, well, kind of boring. I have that one album with some bastardization of the word wildebeasts in the title that's really rather good, but the show we saw yesterday was something you'd expect to see at a Thursday night coffee shop while complaining about powdered cocoa. It was free though, so, no real complaints. I'm sure when it's dark and there are drums and booze, they're way better. And it got me into Amoeba, which means I have new music for the road: we're all winners here, I swears.
Tonight: the Warfield. Tomorrow: the beginning of a 6000 mile tour. Gilligan, you'll remember, had a three hour tour. Gilligan was a bitch.