Dumb Nostalgia: Don't Mention the War, or the nazi gold

The last time I had a chance to spill my guts life as a whole was bumming me out. It was a momentary and passing irritation, I assure you. It took a trip to the Transbrodeur club in Lyon to straighten me out. It was still a cold, rainy morning and we were late for load in, but as I walked into catering and reached for the fridge in search of orange juice I was confronted with this unsightly little thing. It was the sign of a good start to the day, I think; an amazing technicolor butthole. It's crass, I know, but try seeing that before breakfast.

The days seem to have gotten much better.In spite of the still-consistent lack of sleep my quality of life has improved. France has been good for me. I am, however, still in Europe, and people still try to feed me strange things each and every day. Oh, what culinary delights are thrust upon us.

We aren't even in Germany yet, and already we are contending with some pretty questionable Euro fashions. Note Harley's pained expression as he stifles his own laughter.

I just finished a pair of shows in Italy. I have made my peace with France and The French over the years (mostly due to the advances that they have made in the fields of both cheese and wine), but I still take issue with the Italian shows that often befoul any European tour. Florence looked lovely from inside, where I spent much of my day fiddling with dodgy electricity and updating my resume.

Italian shows, like shows in Mexico, always bring out some pretty tacky bootlegging operations. Mexico, unlike Italy takes it all pretty seriously. There will be entire markets filled with handmade goods before some of the larger shows. I have seen hand welded belt buckles, pottery and some pretty decent t-shirt designs. In fact my friend Jerry used to do the designs for the knock-off Interpol stuff, but you didn't hear that from me. The Italians are fond of scanning a record cover, pasting it onto a h&m shirt and selling it for 20 Euro. They are also brazen enough to set up their tables on the grounds of the club. This is the view from the band's dressing room.

Speaking of dressing rooms. This was the crew room, essentially the only place to sit and get away from the madness of the day. It is almost brilliant in it's simplicity. If only there weren't eleven people waiting for a go on the chair.

The madness that I speak of is an 8-camera film shoot of the show in Milan. I hope it turns out better than the one we did a few years back in Rhode Island which was nothing short of a disaster which is aired regularly on Showtime to this day.

Things have been looking up, but everyone is still counting down the days until we fly home. Bobby has begun an elaborate process of working out where in his nonexistent house all of his crap will go. He has a pretty extensive collection of rock memorabilia and a veritable library on pop culture. He also lives out of storage spaces in both New York and Seattle. His designs are Chris Ware-esque in their scope and detail. I'm starting to be a little concerned.