see this guy?

this is the guy...

Favorite waste of time

It's a big day here in this part of the world. Election day, my gawsh, what the hell goes on? There is some sort of extremely civil civil war on CNN right now. Andreson Cooper just walked through a hologram of the US senate building, and I think Greta Van Susteren has been sent back in time to settle the French and Indian war. Maybe a margarita or two will clear all of this up for me. Just wait and see, I suppose. I'm curious to see if we will have a new George W. Bush sewage treatment plant here in SF tomorrow. I'm also a little fascinated about the proposition to decriminalize prostitution, because I might be in the job market. Shit, and is someone my grandmother's age going to be elected president? All that gloominess and pessimism aside it is wonderful to be home in spite of the incessant rain and cold. I have been in warmer climes and enjoyed them less recently beginning with a day off at a Best Western in San Diego. I spent most of the afternoon killing flies with a towel, and then noticed that it looked like a klan rally in my bathroom.















The next day it was back to the warm bosom of the Neil Young tour that I'd been on for the past month. Back to long hours in a hockey arena with nothing to do except graze the chafing dishes in catering, sleep off a food hangover, and then go back for more. Just before the show Ben wandered into the dressing room to change clothes and hollered like an 8 year-old girl who got her pig tails caught in a paper shredder. He promptly dropped his pants, and this evil little bastard crawled right out.  None of us would have been any more surprised if he gave birth to a 10-speed bicycle at that point. I stepped on the little guy (scorpion, not Ben who, after an initial shock couldn't do much more than laugh at the situation) and someone ran off to get a medic. He ended up being just fine in spite of the local emt's general confusion surrounding the whole scene. Man, as if touring needs to be any more unsettling, challenging and bizarre, now folks are getting picked off by large, freakish carnivorous arthropods. I'm packing some shin guards and a stick with a nail in it next time I leave home.

We drove overnight to LA and got in at around 6 in the morning. I rolled off the bus as soon as we got in, and caught the sunrise.















As it turned out Neil Young cancelled his (and consequently our) LA show due to a strike by the local stagehand's union. He refused to cross their picket line in order to play a bunch of songs about not crossing picket lines to the good folks of Los Angeles. I grabbed some homemade donuts at the Donut Prince in Burbank and plotted my 2 days off.















Ally came by and picked me up as he was working down the street at Queen's of the Stone Age's pink duck studio. We shot the shit over lunch with Lilly and then we hit up Lucha Vavoom's Mexican wrestling spectacular at the Mayan. It was far more amazing then it even sounds. There were midgets, burlesque girls, hot rods, and a guy dressed as the chupacabra. Life rarely gets more satisfying.















We ended the night with a wee hours taco truck run to the Von's parking lot in Echo Park, just around the corner from my old place. The next morning we shook off the cheap tequila haze with some breakfast and strong coffee, and then worked out some Halloween costumes. Since our pal Patrick had decided to go as The Big Lebowski, and we were  picking up bits and pieces of his wardrobe for him, we decided to go as the gang of Nihilists who repeatedly threaten to cut off the old man's johnson. It was pretty simple really, and only involved some thrift store leather jackets and motorcycle helmets. I think the ghetto blaster playing Kraftwerk was a nice touch as well. We met up with TS, who decided to cover himself in fake blood and take mushrooms. Needless to say, he became a bit of a liability, but we dragged him out to The Queen's Halloween party in Woodland Hills. It sure was a blast although I had to scramble for a 1 AM bus call. Ally believes in nothing.



















Reno was the last show on the tour. It was my first time in that strange, strange town. I felt almost at home amongst the pawn shops and beat down old hotels, but it was really just killing time until I made it back home.

It rained most of the day, which only compounded the down and out-ness of Reno.

I rode the bus back to SF and made it home by about 4 AM, gaining a lucky daylight savings hour. I slept like the baby jesus in my own bed after a long, six week tour. The next night Lexi and I went out to dinner with our old pal Blasco, and then saw his band play The Independent. They were sleepy, moody and really excellent. He was having a bit of a guitar player's garage sale on stage with his 3 pedal boards. Go buy some records and help them put gas in the van here. 















I'm going to go put a fresh orange on the Obama shrine downstairs. Hope it helps, if not, in the words of the great Iron Maiden: 'run to the hills.'