Worshipping the Absurd Since 1993!!
Back to fuck Tour Diary part 1
August 1, Day 9, Portland
While we are making the final repair arrangements, our
pal Alyssa pulls into the Arco station for gas. She is on her way to the beach with a
couple of her friends and two very big dogs. Alyssa invites us to join the party and I am
truly tempted, but I have a long and ugly history with big dogs. Torn, I reluctantly
decide to stay with Tim and Kyle to monitor the vans progress at the Arco station.
Ted and Geoff, obviously free from any crippling large mammal phobias, head off with
Alyssa, her friends and the big dogs for what will certainly be a grand day.
After we drive the Dodge onto the gas lift in the
service bay at the station, Tim and Kyle somehow convince me to remain hidden in the van
so as to be certain that no mechanical flim-flammery occurs once our wounded chariot is
airborne. The next nine hours pass uneventfully as the van is fitted with a shiny new
torque converter and external engine balancer (the wrong parts had been used when the new
engine was installed some 30,000 miles ago, resulting in a progressively violent series of
vibrations and related maladies).
The show at EJs is ok. Two Dollar Guitar and
Transparent Thing are both very good (I missed the first band); fuck is nefariously
oblique. Upon arriving in Portland, fuck were greeted with a particularly vicious and
scathing review of their new cd in a local music rag - I think they really wanted to set
the record straight with a special show. I dont know what they were worried about -
the critic (one John Graham) who penned the diatribe was obviously a victim of his own
fears. I think he saw the name of the band, suffered a justifiable outbreak of penis envy
and lashed out accordingly. I dont think hes vindictive by nature - in another
article he heartily recommended the new Bon Jovi record. Oh well.
August 2, Day 10, Boise
Tonights show at the Neurolux is
fucks first ever Boise appearance. I have to admit that I dont have any
particularly interesting insights on this evenings events, with the exception of
being overwhelmed by the unusually high percentage of total fucking nutcases. We leave
after the show and drive all night to ...
August 3, Day 11, Laramie
Laramie, Wyoming. No show tonight, but a special
evening for fuck, nonetheless, as this is the first night of the tour that we get to stay
in a motel. The highlight of the day was a pit stop at a Utah rest area. I was sitting in
the mens room, working on a haiku about the unusually short stalls (even by my
standards) and generally minding my own business when I noticed a gentleman who had
apparently been washing his hands in the sink for at least ten minutes. I originally
dismissed his behavior as one of those tragic obsessive/compulsive Lady Macbeth things,
until a bottle of "Ferret Glow" shampoo on the counter caught my eye. Could it
be? Sure enough, he was giving his ferret a bath in the sink (literally, not
euphemistically). It was the kind of tender, heartwarming scene that could make me
reconsider any preconceived notions I might have about Utah. Oh, yeah - I eventually
finished my haiku:
The stalls are too short In Utah rest stop mens
rooms To jack off alone.
August 4, Day 12, Denver
Upon arriving in Denver, we are greeted by a torrential
downpour which threatens to wash the van off the highway. The show at the 15th Street
Tavern is fun, but the real highlight of this stop is dinner at Wolfs barbecue joint
in downtown Denver. I inhale two barbecue tofu sandwiches, complete with fixins
(potato chips and pickle). Yumyumyum. After the show, we are accosted by some freak-boy
who says he used to be Perry Farrells personal assistant. As he continues his
slurred and dubious tale, we quietly slip into the van, lock the doors, start the engine
and head out of town.
August 5, Day 13, Lawrence
We arrive in Lawrence, Kansas early in the afternoon.
Tonights show at The Replay is good, clean fun. An otherwise harmless evening is
marred at the last moment by a rogue parking enforcement officer who issues a $10 citation
to the fuck van for being parked backwards in a parking stall. Even though we point out
that parking any other way would mean loading our gear in the middle of the street, the
friendly but dense officer stands by his original assessment. I would like to go on record
as a concerned traveler and point out that the dullards who penned this bizarre addition
to Lawrences parking penal code should be ashamed of themselves. Was Bob Dole in on
August 6, Day 14, St. Louis
Tonights show at Ciceros is the first of
several shows we will be playing with Smells Like recording artists, The Clears. The
Clears are from Memphis, and you cant really describe their music or live show
without some reference to early eighties new wave. Its fun stuff - and great stage
outfits to boot. The show is comfortably uncrowded (as in, aside from the band members and
their families, the fan base consists of two drunks and some guy who thinks this was
supposed to be reggae night).
August 7, Day 15, Chicago
Personally, I love Chicago - the people, the city, the
lake, the Cubs -everything. This visit is a glorious reaffirmation of those sentiments.
Lounge Ax, rightfully beloved by all touring bands, is a welcome oasis in the oft
"difficult" Midwest. We have a hectic schedule today - after loading in, we do a
quick sound check and meet up with Cyndi (hereafter known by her new code name
"SuperGoddess"), a writer for Magnet, who will be conducting her interview while
we drive to WNUR for a radio show. I spend the bulk of the evening following Cyndi around
the radio station and club, collecting any loose hairs or stray clothing fibers that fall
from her perfect form, with the honorable intention of utilizing these bits and pieces of
her essence to construct an elaborate shrine to her overwhelming beauty.
Eric and Mike, our hosts at WNUR, are equally charming,
and nice enough to let me live out one of my life-long dreams and host a radio call-in
show. Due to our restricted schedule, I only have time for one caller, a hard-lisping
drunk from East Chicago. Still, his insights on our topic "Do Monkeys Make Better
Lovers?" are valid and provocative. I am thrilled.
Tonights line-up is chock full of goodies, with
Viewmaster (who will be sharing several dates with us over the next couple of weeks), The
Clears, Two Dollar Guitar and fuck. The show is pretty well attended and things are
running smoothly, so I decide to celebrate with a frosty cold Leinenkugel. In light of the
fact that I almost never drink, and certainly not on an empty stomach, this is maybe not
one of my better decisions. After blacking out, I wake up at 9:00 the next morning, face
down on the floor of the van with a handful of what appears to be Cyndis hair
clenched in my fist. On a more positive note, a quick inspection of my immediate
surroundings indicates that I did not soil myself during the evening.
August 8, Day 16, Detroit
What should have been an uneventful trip to Detroit
turns into a twilight zone-ish nightmare when the alternator on the van fails and we are
stranded for six hours in a small town in Indiana (I dont remember the exact name of
the city, but it was something like Stepford or Stepfjord). We arrive at the Magic Stick
in Detroit after midnight, just in time for a brief, inchoate fuck set. The lovely Kim
(well-known proprietor of Zoots) is our gracious host this evening. On the way to
her house, the fuck van starts complaining anew with an unidentifiable grinding noise. I
am becoming increasingly envious of the other bands rented vehicles. Unrelated
personal aside: I make a mental note to discuss with my therapist my recently developed
fixation with the size and shape of grown mens nipples.
fuck Tour Diary part 3 ->