Gloomy outside and I can barely keep my eyes open. I slept OK; maybe I’m getting sick. I certainly have not eaten well. We’re on our way to Boise, ID, so I expect the food selection to worsen. Last night’s show was alright, despite ordinary DIY touring snafus. The show went down at UC Davis. It took us an hour to find the actual place where the show location on campus thanks to terrible directions. When we finally located the space, we saw that it was in some kind of student activities center, specifically in a glass-enclosed cafeteria. Turned out, the show was free and three touring bands would split the $250 check, a check that would me mailed to us. I ate a sandwich at a crunchy hippy café. It had mayo smeared all over it, the un-vegan kind, though the menu said it was vegan. So much for that.
We reunited with our friends’ band and met Chris. Chris is a real character. He was gracious enough to let us all crash at his apartment (eight dudes). We piled into the living room and watched bad TV. We sat mesmerized by some bizarre public access low-fi horror flick. Chris kept issuing proclamations as if they were Buddhist koans: “I love Mastodon. If you don’t love Mastodon get outta my house.” “I love basketball. If you don’t love basketball, get outta my house.” Later on, he said, “You guys have a lot of energy. I like that. You feel that vibe when you play. I like your energy.” At some point, Eric went for a smoke. He dislodged something essential to the closing of the door, at which point Chris burst out: “You broke my door. Anyone who breaks my door, get outta my house.” I fell asleep pressed against the wall and halfway under an end table, a stereo centimeters from my face.
(It should here be noted, for the sake of Chris’ character development, that years later he would relay to the owner of a Philadelphia-based music distribution center: “I’m drunk. I’m high. I’m looking at porn on the internet. I’m eating cheese doodles. My dick is orange.”)
Snow envelopes us. We’re driving up some mountain north of Sacramento on 80 towards Reno. The fog obscures whatever lay beyond these trees lining the highway like nature’s fence. I drove yesterday through ungodly mountain passes. I’m sure Rollins would handle all of this with aplomb. Billy brought Get In the Van, so we’ve made many comments and jokes in reference to Rollins’ travails (his self-proclaimed ‘alonity’). I need to eat more than Clif bars. I crave nutritious foodstuffs.
Leaving Pucker Brush, NV, population 28. I can’t believe I look forward to Subway. That was a weird rest stop. We entered the joint with it sunny and warm. We left with wind, rain and face-smacking blowing sand. This environment is insane: desert, snow-capped mountains, painted cliffs, a weird emerald ravine and droves of roaming cows. Nevada. Subway seems to have rocked my stomach, as it feels like Assuck is playing a show in it. This is likely due to me not eating anything substantial in days.