Tuesday, July 3, 2012

No One Cares How Louisville is pronounced


Quotes: For this last round of quotes I’m putting down the things that were said in the van every day and more likely every hour. They’re not funny by themselves and probably only became funny to us by dint of their ridiculousness. Still, when things were getting tense one of these would be bound to make someone laugh,

“My eye”

“Bark” (It’s a thing, or rather a substance)

“Just the tip”

“I lead a normal life”

“Daddy’s gonna shut you down” (Just add any pejorative before this and sing it to the melody of whatever surf song that is)

Fauna: Remember when I saw stuff? Good times. Even if I didn’t see the damn roadrunner.

I’ve gotten a few days behind on the blog because wrapping up this leg of the tour has been kind of chaotic. For instance, we rented our van from a company in Nashville, and rather than get home, clean it out, and then drive it back to Nashville it was decided we would drop it off now, rent a car, load most of our gear into the Sundresses van and divide up the band between the two vehicles. The contract with the van people gave us 6,000 miles at no additional charge but we had exceeded that somewhere in Arizona. It turned out to actually be cheaper to rent a one-way car than keep adding up miles on the van. Oh sweet Enrique,* you have been so good to us, we will miss you with the ardor of  a Spaniard for the Virgin Mary. So a renting, cleaning, and transferring we went. But wait! There’s more! Chuck and Lisa also needed to be in Louisville at 3:00 for a radio thing. Because we’re idiots we assumed the GPS/Maps machine would take into account the time change and ended up leaving later than we should have. Two accidents and some road construction later and we were grinding our teeth stressed, wondering if we were going to make it. Being late for radio sucks because those places tend to keep to a pretty tight schedule, and often they’re announcing over the air that you’re going to be playing at a certain time. As we were driving we kept calling different numbers at the station but couldn’t get hold of anyone. When we finally rolled up to the station (right near the beautiful Palace Theater where I saw Tom Waits) we knocked on the door and no one was there. I’m sure someone was in there somewhere but the place looked pretty damn dark. Still don’t know if they gave up and left or our performance slipped through their scheduling cracks. I guess things work out the way they’re supposed to.

Then off to the club, which was called Zazoo’s I think, eat some dinner and watch most of the band have heartfelt, nauseating reunions with their loved ones. Bastards. We all went to our corners and reconvened onstage. There really was a different feeling to this show. Celebratory yes, but the thought that kept going through my head as we played was that it felt like high school graduation. You know where everyone is in a good mood and you’re giving hugs to everyone (the brain, the athlete, the basket case, the princess, and the criminal) saying you’ll keep in touch? There was that feeling of a journey collectively experienced and survived and that somehow this show was earned. (did you see LeBron wearing that “Earned Not Given” shirt after the Heat won the championship? God, he’s such an asshat) It was a great show, nice crowd full of strangers and familiar faces. Lots of silly milling around the parking lot afterwards, trying to make sure all the gear and suitcases made it into the right vehicle. Got home at five in the morning, more tired than Jesus after pushing that big damn rock out of the way.


Tomorrow is something else

*Enrique is the name of any and all Wussy vans.

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