Goodbye Northeast, hello Southeast.
Went swimming in the Ocean and had to perform that night with 2 and a half cups of sand in my underwear. I didn't discover the sand until 3 or 4 in the morning while stopping at a rest area. It may have been the reason for my blue mood at the show that night. We spent a day at Interpunk, and played a few songs (acoustic) They bought us wonderful pastries and let us invade their warehouse. I especially liked playing with the static ball in the main office. They have so many toys. They tell us they got all the toys they wanted but couldn't afford when they were little.
Here is a note to anyone who plans on promoting shows:
You must have control of the situation with confidence, and you must be the conduit to which all complaints and suggestions are sifted. You must make decisions and stick with them. You must not tell one band one thing, change your mind and tell another band another thing, and then send the one band over to the other band to "work it out" That is your responsibility. A bad promoter can cause illogical strife between bands. It amazes me how quickly a badly planned evening can spiral into misguided blame and frustration. I am being purposely vague. I am not writing this to blame any venue or any band, or promoter, it is an unwanted situation that has happened more than once, and I would like it to stop. It has made me question my own motives. I would cut my set if need be, I would play whenever, if the change is justified or if my band arrived much much later than the time we were told, I would listen to the final judgement of a promoter. I may decide it is unfair and leave without pay, but I would not disobey what a confident promoter decides. And sadly some of this rationality disappears and I do not have full access to my patients when face to face with disorganization.
Anyway, we are now in Spartansburg watching Ed, Ed and Eddie, one of the many "strange" cartoons animating the airwaves.
Mass' bass stopped working, Dan-e has countless cuts on his hands from acoustic strings. My fingers throb all night. Brad has knocked a hole in his bass and his sleeping bag jumped from the van when I opened the door this eveing and it plunged itself into a muddy puddle. I think Liz is fine, but she had a bad day awhile ago. I think she wanted all of us to bury ourselves in the ground and eat dirt. I think she likes us again. That is how tours go, one moment you hate that person sitting next to you day after day and the next moment you want to hug them and protect them from any harm.