When we got to Hogie's the first thing we did was check on the liquor situation, and it was not good. He had 4 beers. A circus was quickly approaching with elephants and tigers and acrobats in various cars and trains, and we only had 4 beers to offer them. I planned on drinking about a thousand beers myself, so 4 wasn't going to hold the dam from crashing open and soaking the countryside in a glow of screaming maniacs. Someone had to keep this cruise ship above the water's fatal touch. And that someone, was me.
Crying, loathing, franticly searching my late-90's memory for Carlito's number. Texting bar tenders and politely asking them to risk their jobs by serving us in a private residence 14 km away. We worked hard, prevailed, and eventually several saints delivered a plethora of mysterious bottles and an oven full of beer. Thanks Ken, Thanks Trev.
Last night was really special. I missed my first head-butt of the concrete blocks but nobody was mean to me about it. Thank you so much for the second chance. This scene we are building starts with musicians loving each other. Bands loving bands. Last night I hugged a thousand artists and even kissed a Russian man on the lips.
Shafer is watching the Royal Rumble right now and I'm jealous. I remember how important the Royal Rumble was to me. Even had the game on Super Nintendo. My Mom would drive us to Frisco's in Poco to watch it on pay-per-view for 5 bucks with a shitty hot dog. Good times. I miss wrestling, but it probably doesn't miss me.
We are playing a punk show in Chilliwack on Friday. With or without a practice in between, who knows? I feel that this dragon of a band still has plenty of gas in the tank, and plenty of sauce to offer the dry noodles of any pasta bowl from coast to coast.
No booze, no drugs, no thugs, you guys.