Baggage Handlers of the Apocalypse

Every damn time. I am going to start Fed-Exing my clothes in cardboard boxes to myself all over the world. That way airlines wouldn't have to worry so much about where on the tarmac to leave my luggage. I was all strapped in this morning, emotionally preparing myself to be in Missouri by the end of the day.















Two flights, and eight hours later and I was in Kansas City without, in case you missed it, my toothbrush and a change of clothes. Maybe if I start dressing in layers then I could wear four or five days worth of clothes at one time. Harley likes to play the odds and packs his stuff into two separate bags banking on the fact that it's more difficult to lose a pair of bags. I went all in on red. Somewhere over the middle of the country, flying along at an excellent clip without my suitcase weighing us down.
















Before I left we celebrated Val's birthday at Kan Zaman amongst pita bread and hookas. It was a blast at the end of a rather exhausting week off. Here she is just before she almost lost an arm to a sword-wielding belly dancer.














Last night I went out to see Turbonegro at Slims. It was a fond farewell to SF.















My friend Jerry is working with them these days (Jerrynegro), and has been having a blast in spite of the bars that they have been playing. It was an all ages show, and Jerry pointed out that whenever there is a young crowd the band plays the nambla song. This job is going to look great on his resume.














That was also the first time that I had worn the Turbojugend jacket out to a small show. I felt like I was in the Masons. Everyone talks to you, and is damn friendly. I think I may have learned a secret handshake or two as well.
















Nick Oliveri's Mondo Generator opened. It was special. Hard to deny fried chicken and four on the floor.















The capper of the evening was watching the video of an old Dead Kennedy's show on the screen during changeover. Shortly after it started Jello Biafra walked in, looked rather confused at himself on the screen and then bellied up to the bar to watch the show.
















Tonight I think maybe I'll just settle into my room at the embassy suites, have a good cry, order the obnoxious chocolate cake and watch Battlestar Galactica.