In which Birdmonster hunkers down in the Lone Star State, solves various problems, and confesses various loves both new and old

Although success is a wonderful thing, calamity makes for better stories. I mean, nobody's reading King Lear if Lear's a loving Dad, doesn't get his egomaniacal lunatic on, and ends up inventing the sourdough roll. That's a simple fact of life. So it follows that an interminably long tale of amp shopping which ends in expensive but glorious success would probably bore the bejesus out of everyone. In other words, I'm skipping that part of trip. Just know that we've spent a large part of the last 48 hours in various Guitar Centers, getting called "bro" more frequently than our actual names, trying out all manner of cheaper, lamer amplifiers until finding one I fell instantly in love with, asked to marry me, and have subsequently decided to take on a 4 week honeymoon. I don't think she loves me yet, but, not unlike an IT guy who orders a Siberian bride, I'm pretty sure she'll come around.

Of course, even though a majority of my time has been spent haggling and unplugging cords, things have happened. We played Tucson, which was pretty much the polar opposite of Phoenix in that our van didn't need to be hospitalized and our show was fantastic (not to toot our own horn, but, well: "toot, toot"). We also met up with Division Day, who you know we adore, for the first of three shows, which, coincidentally will end this evening in San Antonio after yesterday's festival set in Dallas at 4:30 on a workday, a time slot which, needless to say, didn't exactly lend itself to a packed house. I think more people watched that Heather Graham sitcom they cancelled in a day. Still, playing music is playing music. You'll never hear me complaining about that.

I also had the distinct pleasure of watching the Golden State Warriors end the Dallas Mavericks' 17 game win streak in a taco shop surrounded by Mavs fans. For about five minutes, I was the one guy clapping incessantly after every Warriors basket until I remembered that Texans take their sports quite seriously and that a lot of them have firearms.

But, truly: we love Texas. I mentioned this the first time we came to this monstrous land mass and I stand by that. Sure, you drive in from the west on the I-20 and there's a sign that says "Welcome to Texas; Proud Home of President George W. Bush," and part of you thinks "So this is how it's gonna be, Texas?" but, quite soon afterwards you realize that California could just as easily have a sign on the I-10 that said "Welcome to California; Proud Home of President (and Bedtime for Bonzo thespian) Ronald Reagan," so really, it's a wash. Texas just has character. And tons of delicious ways to cook cows. We'll be here for a bit more than a week, what with the shows in Dallas and San Antone, plus four days worth of shmoozing and overwhelmingness at South By Southwest (beginning tomorrow, in fact), so it's a good thing we've heaps of adoration for this place. Texas is kind of like that wildly inappropriate uncle you love in spite of the fact he's hit on all your girlfriends, throws dinner rolls at your head while eating, and is constantly blotto. He's not perfect but, damn, he's fun.

So for now, I'm going to leave you to spend some quality time with said uncle, eat some enchiladas with red and green sauce, and remember not to root against the Spurs or disparage the Alamo, which should be pretty easy since I love Robert Horry and Davey Crockett. Until soon.