Garage Bands and Garbage Cans

Basura. That's how I feel right now. But only because we just loaded back into the house and I'm weak and a little queasy. Maybe a little dehydrated, too.

Last night was pretty cool, let me tell you. We played in this tiny garage in Temecula for a meager crowd of people who seemed timid, but still exerted a good vibe. The Daisycutters were fun, and I can totally see a Q and Not U influence in Devin's drumming. Ryan pushed me into the middle to dance, but since I don't know how, I just kept walking and ended up hugging some random kid I don't know who was much better at dancing than I. The police showed up right before we started playing and said "We got a noise complaint that the drums were too loud and obnoxious and seemed out of tune." And then they drove away. Interesting? Oui.

(Ryan was still sober at this point)

I think we need to have more fun performing. That will make other people have fun. We played well, but the performance was definitely lacking. The California flag I taped above my head fell down on me at one point. I wore it like a cape until gravity collapsed it's final attempts at waving. Apparently you're supposed to burn the CA flag if it touches the ground. I wouldn't do that though. Throughout the whole set, there was this little dog that looked like a bear circling the drumset and dancing with EJ. Her name was Zeppelin.

(Ryan remained sober)

Afterwards we left and went to this fucking gorgeous house on a lake, and began consuming. Soup, bread, beer and vodka... blegh. The cops showed up again and broke up the party, unfortunately, which made me feel old, being legal and all. Everybody else was freaking out. So we hung out for a bit and the kid's mom came home and told us about how her neighbor is a crazy bitch and murdered her husband by poisoning him. I wish we got that one on tape.

(Ryan is wasted and is punching me telling me to punch him back, to which I refuse)

So then we left and went to another house in Temecula, on this big horseshoe street called Del Ray. Confusing as hell... This house was just as amazing in it's own right. It was on a ranch, with a giant backyard and horses right beyond the fence. There were tons of cats hanging around, three of them kittens who wrestled in the grass and climbed through the tire spokes of bikes with flat tires. Their names were Parsley, Sage and Rosejerry (previously Rosemary, until they found out it was a boy). Parsley perched on my shoulder for a good while, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The inside was a mix between brand new kitchen/dining room/living area and a hippie den where there were multiple couches, a hammock hanging from the ceiling that attracted a lot of drunken attention and Pink Floyd's Live at Pompeii playing in the background. I thought of Kemp, an ex-bear of a giant's stature, with an appetite for Pink Floyd to match. There was a hookah, and it was damn heavy. Burning my throat and making me cough, though not unpleasantly.

(Ryan is legally insane, attempting handstands to the point of shattering glass tables and running into stationary objects)

I decided to sleep in the van for the evening. We need curtains... or something. I felt like a taquito in my sleeping bag once the sun started baking the van. This morning was spent drinking water and pondering the distance relative to a human that the ants ravaging the garbage can would have to travel to bring their bits of food back home. I said four miles.

So today we're going to do a silly but potentially sweet photo shoot up at this house that some people decided to move. Literally. They cut the house in half, and drove it away on a truck. But they left a couple couches behind, and the back half of the kitchen, so we might go set up our equipment there and pretend to play. I need to get directions for the whole country tomorrow or Monday. Other than that, I'm playing the waiting game.