Sunday, May 18, 2008

Iowa City


We’re kicking it in some ultra-modern café in Iowa City. This is serious college town. Yesterday saw us here as well. Everywhere we walked we came upon posters for our show, a harsh fact slapping us in the face every time we saw them. We did not play. The LGS van remains in Omaha. Turns out, the U bolts need to be replaced and the drive shaft must be rebuilt. Thanks McFuck! Our singer is stranded there with them, so no rock for the rest of us. Now they wait for a part to arrive, which could be anytime between now and Friday. Today is Tuesday. Yeah, it’s heavy.

My illness rages. I feel slightly better, but still out of it. This is exactly how I felt when the sickness struck in Europe. I went to sleep last night in my sleeping bag, sweatshirt on and the hood pulled right over my aching head. I got up to urinate for about 15 minutes, then returned to sleep. That ended violently at 7 AM when a loud, piercing whine shook me awake. The fire alarm went off in the hotel, the AmericInn. It was a false alarm. Yet we still went outside for half an hour. I did not need that. Went back to sleep for three hours, dined at the Village Inn, had a surprisingly tasty though expensive Boca Burger, hit up Wal Mart, bought three oranges and now we reside back in Iowa City.

Depending on what happens with the LGS van, we’ll either go to St. Louis or Chicago. Tonight’s show in Columbia, Missouri is cancelled. Last night, two bands did play here at Gabe’s Oasis. While propping myself up on the merch table (we are capitalists, we still sold merch though we did not play), a female approached. “Do I know you?” “Uhhh, no, I don’t think so.” “Really? You look so familiar.” She donned punk attire of studded belt, hair streaked black and pink and face heavily caked in make up. Since I have zero knowledge of these matters, I have no idea if she was being friendly, if I look like an acquaintance or if she was hitting on me. Who knows? I will never see her again. Unless we come back to Iowa City.

Before the show we hung out at the promoter’s apartment. It was astonishingly clean, considering boys live there. You can always tell what a house and especially a bathroom will look like when only males reside in said places. This abode defied that popular touring band theorem. Prior to this we had sushi. Maybe Iowa is not the hotbed of proper sushi, but I detested it. Perhaps my cold and cold medicine interfered.

Anyway, two shows are cancelled and possibly a third. I don’t mind last night since I felt so thoroughly fucked. Still, we’re here to play, not lounge in cafes and hotel rooms. As Mike Watt astutely observed, if you ain’t playin’, you’re payin’. I long for the comfort of home, of Philly, of the east coast. I’m realizing nowhere compares to home, though southern California is rather nice.