That would be Sunday afternoon jam-session at Jen and Dean's Huntington Beach house, after waking up in a hammock tied to a palm tree.
God, I miss California.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
My Closest Friend, Linoleum.
I finally got this video onto YouTube so people can see it. This might have been the raddest moment of my life. Sounds a little dramatic for just one song on a porch with a half-dozen people and a bunch of beer- but it captured the best day I've had in a long time with some seriously amazing friends, as well as brings me back like 12 years when I first walked around singing this song. I'm really glad somebody (Brittney?) picked up the camera and caught it on tape.
That would be Sunday afternoon jam-session at Jen and Dean's Huntington Beach house, after waking up in a hammock tied to a palm tree.
God, I miss California.
That would be Sunday afternoon jam-session at Jen and Dean's Huntington Beach house, after waking up in a hammock tied to a palm tree.
God, I miss California.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tour Update- Pueblo, CO
Arizona is a hell-hole and I hate it and I will never go back to that state ever again. Unless it's to visit my friends Ben and Katie. Other than that, the state of Arizona can piss up a rope. It was a hundred thousand degrees outside every day, the shows were a fiasco, and for every super rad person we met, we had to deal with 100 complete douchebag idiots. Thanks, no thanks Arizona. Peace out.
Just so you know, Tempe Arizona to Pueblo Colorado is 11 hours and 19 minutes according to Google Maps.
We left Tempe last night at 8:15 PM. I drove for eight hours and Guil took over for another three. Then I drove another four. We finally fucking got here at 1:15 PM. That's fifteen hours.
In the last 36 hours, I have experienced the following:
- 1 hot and miserable (thankfully last) day in Arizona
- 1 trip with Luke and Guil out to the river in the desert (photos pending)
- 1 bird-bath in a Jack-In-The-Box bathroom, a move which was originally executed exclusively to rid my body of all the river sand stuck to the sunscreen on every inch of my skin BUT turned into me basically taking a full shower, including shaving my legs in the sink. Yeah, you heard me. What?
- 1 lengthy argument about directions
- 1 camera bag saturated with a half gallon of water (fml)
- 1 near-fight at a gas station
- 1 subway sandwich for lunch
- 1 packet of lunch meat and string cheese for dinner
- 2 packs of cigarettes
- 3 gas stops
- 5 Diet Dr. Peppers
- 5 hours of sleep
- 7 full cycles of Flexx Bronco's, My Life in Black and White's, Get Dead's and All Bets on Death's albums
- 25 repeats of Dramarama's "Anything Anything" (sorry, guys).
- 35 miles per hour up an insane elevation change between Tempe and Flagstaff. Sea-level to 7000 feet in less than 150 miles. That was totally fucking crazy and we spent an eternity in second gear trying to get the van up the mountain.
- 800 total miles
- Like 17 gallons of Vitamin Water
I will admit that I DID almost kill all of us at the beginning of our drive by nearly merging into a semi. But SERIOUSLY I did not see him in the rear-view or the blind-spot mirror, he had no running lights, and I'm blaming half that shit on him.
I was initially driving the first long shift because I wanted to watch Large Marge McSwervesalot (which I've named the van until she gets properly christened) hit the epic 400,000 mile mark on the odometer. Who the hell else is driving down the highway with nearly a half MILLION miles on their car???
Anyway, I sat there anxiously watching the dash. This is what I saw happen:
399,999.7
399,999.8
399,999.9
300,000.0
. . . "Guil, where the fuck did you get this van? I think we just went 100,000 miles back in time."
I'm totally serious. This van probably DOES have a million miles on it, but every time it's about to accurately switch digits it just jumps back to 300,000. Awesome!
We're in Pueblo now and I took a shower and a short nap and I feel like a brand new person.
My New Vice has a show tonight and is playing a wedding tomorrow at which we will all get very, very wasted. Then guess what? We get to drive home! From Pueblo! All in one stretch because everybody apparently has to work Monday.
Guess how far it is from Pueblo to Portland?
24 hours.
Yep.
(Google maps says 19, everyone in Pueblo says 24 at the absolute fastest.)
Here we go.
Just so you know, Tempe Arizona to Pueblo Colorado is 11 hours and 19 minutes according to Google Maps.
We left Tempe last night at 8:15 PM. I drove for eight hours and Guil took over for another three. Then I drove another four. We finally fucking got here at 1:15 PM. That's fifteen hours.
In the last 36 hours, I have experienced the following:
- 1 hot and miserable (thankfully last) day in Arizona
- 1 trip with Luke and Guil out to the river in the desert (photos pending)
- 1 bird-bath in a Jack-In-The-Box bathroom, a move which was originally executed exclusively to rid my body of all the river sand stuck to the sunscreen on every inch of my skin BUT turned into me basically taking a full shower, including shaving my legs in the sink. Yeah, you heard me. What?
- 1 lengthy argument about directions
- 1 camera bag saturated with a half gallon of water (fml)
- 1 near-fight at a gas station
- 1 subway sandwich for lunch
- 1 packet of lunch meat and string cheese for dinner
- 2 packs of cigarettes
- 3 gas stops
- 5 Diet Dr. Peppers
- 5 hours of sleep
- 7 full cycles of Flexx Bronco's, My Life in Black and White's, Get Dead's and All Bets on Death's albums
- 25 repeats of Dramarama's "Anything Anything" (sorry, guys).
- 35 miles per hour up an insane elevation change between Tempe and Flagstaff. Sea-level to 7000 feet in less than 150 miles. That was totally fucking crazy and we spent an eternity in second gear trying to get the van up the mountain.
- 800 total miles
- Like 17 gallons of Vitamin Water
I will admit that I DID almost kill all of us at the beginning of our drive by nearly merging into a semi. But SERIOUSLY I did not see him in the rear-view or the blind-spot mirror, he had no running lights, and I'm blaming half that shit on him.
I was initially driving the first long shift because I wanted to watch Large Marge McSwervesalot (which I've named the van until she gets properly christened) hit the epic 400,000 mile mark on the odometer. Who the hell else is driving down the highway with nearly a half MILLION miles on their car???
Anyway, I sat there anxiously watching the dash. This is what I saw happen:
399,999.7
399,999.8
399,999.9
300,000.0
. . . "Guil, where the fuck did you get this van? I think we just went 100,000 miles back in time."
I'm totally serious. This van probably DOES have a million miles on it, but every time it's about to accurately switch digits it just jumps back to 300,000. Awesome!
We're in Pueblo now and I took a shower and a short nap and I feel like a brand new person.
My New Vice has a show tonight and is playing a wedding tomorrow at which we will all get very, very wasted. Then guess what? We get to drive home! From Pueblo! All in one stretch because everybody apparently has to work Monday.
Guess how far it is from Pueblo to Portland?
24 hours.
Yep.
(Google maps says 19, everyone in Pueblo says 24 at the absolute fastest.)
Here we go.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Tour Update - San Diego
Got to San Diego the night before last, delirious from lack of medication, food and sleep and excess of alcohol. Was literally unable to complete sentences or basic tasks and actually cried because I couldn't do anything. Luke got me food and I was fine in like 3 minutes. I'm an idiot.
Left San Diego this afternoon after seeing my family for a hot minute while the boys got drunk and sunburned in Ocean Beach.
Went down some seriously scary mountain roads. Had a belligerent semi driver try and pass us and his rear tire blew out right as he did it. Fuckin rocked our van damn near off the road and probably over a ten thousand foot cliff.
Got stopped by Arizona border patrol who opted to tear the van apart, complete with dogs, while we were individually searched. Smiley pulled about 35 cigarette butts out of his pocket, at which point I completely lost my shit and almost cried laughing. They didn't find anything, to their great dismay, because apparently My New Vice is the only rock band they've seen without drugs in their whip or on their person. Haha. Suckers.
Got like 10 blocks from our Phoenix destination and drove past a seriously gnarly accident, complete with a dead body.
Luke was a stress case, obviously, because he drove the whole way.
Luke, pissed: "Dude, if we idle here we're gonna fuckin overheat."
Damien, smartass: "Luke needs coolant ."
My road rash wounds and body-wide bruises are painful and ugly and gross and definitely gonna leave some marks. Luke just walked by and said I look like I got attacked by a fucking shark.
Smiley is sitting next to me, wasted and blogging on my laptop. He's reading it outloud and I'm cracking up. Go read the My New Vice blog. Its worth it. Before he sobers up tomorrow and makes some courteous adjustments to his current shit-talk.
We're at Ben's house in Phoenix. I think we'll be here for a few days. Hopefully we don't die of heat stroke.
Thanks for the injuries, LA.
Left San Diego this afternoon after seeing my family for a hot minute while the boys got drunk and sunburned in Ocean Beach.
Went down some seriously scary mountain roads. Had a belligerent semi driver try and pass us and his rear tire blew out right as he did it. Fuckin rocked our van damn near off the road and probably over a ten thousand foot cliff.
Got stopped by Arizona border patrol who opted to tear the van apart, complete with dogs, while we were individually searched. Smiley pulled about 35 cigarette butts out of his pocket, at which point I completely lost my shit and almost cried laughing. They didn't find anything, to their great dismay, because apparently My New Vice is the only rock band they've seen without drugs in their whip or on their person. Haha. Suckers.
Got like 10 blocks from our Phoenix destination and drove past a seriously gnarly accident, complete with a dead body.
Luke was a stress case, obviously, because he drove the whole way.
Luke, pissed: "Dude, if we idle here we're gonna fuckin overheat."
Damien, smartass: "Luke needs coolant ."
My road rash wounds and body-wide bruises are painful and ugly and gross and definitely gonna leave some marks. Luke just walked by and said I look like I got attacked by a fucking shark.
Smiley is sitting next to me, wasted and blogging on my laptop. He's reading it outloud and I'm cracking up. Go read the My New Vice blog. Its worth it. Before he sobers up tomorrow and makes some courteous adjustments to his current shit-talk.
We're at Ben's house in Phoenix. I think we'll be here for a few days. Hopefully we don't die of heat stroke.
Thanks for the injuries, LA.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
And They're Off
The boys left today on tour. I stood in the driveway and marveled at their Tetris-caliber aptitude for stacking and packing too much shit into the van, then hooked them up with some important commodities like speakers and a radar detector for the ride, then threw some of my own stuff in there I don't need for the next week and/or can't/don't want to take on the airplane. Then I watched them drive off into the sunset. Or sunbeams. It was still daytime, so sunbeams.
I'm flyin' into Las Vegasland on the 10th to meet them, then I'm driving the rest of the tour. Vegas, Anaheim, LA, Torrence, San Diego, Scottsdale, Phoenix, Flagstaff, Pueblo, then home on the 21st. In a windowless mid-90's Ford Econoline rapist van with no air conditioning.
This is gonna be awesome.
I'm flyin' into Las Vegasland on the 10th to meet them, then I'm driving the rest of the tour. Vegas, Anaheim, LA, Torrence, San Diego, Scottsdale, Phoenix, Flagstaff, Pueblo, then home on the 21st. In a windowless mid-90's Ford Econoline rapist van with no air conditioning.
This is gonna be awesome.
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