16 Hours in a Van.

In Austin, a dude on the street handed us a free "desert rose." In related news, Austin fucking rules.

The show is at Emo's, the best venue in Austin hands down. They have this kickass stool hanging from the ceiling that Johnny Cash sat on in 1994.

Pre-show Sparks imbibements.

Our last night with Fatal Flying Guilloteens. Predictably, they ruled again. Here, Sean rides a dudes head.

Will (aka Boone) rocks inside a garbage can.

More riding.

Rage.

After the show, Boone and Jeff discover that they both have the same indentation in their chest. Whenever you find another person with this oddity you feel an instant connection stronger than family. Jeff needs to get his hole tatted though.

We start driving right after the Austin show towards California. All through the night. In the desert. Here, the van hits 194,000 miles.

Jordan and Matt drive. Beak, Jeff, and Alison crash.

The road dawgs in action. Keeping each other awake.

Mirages.

Sunrise.

At around 7:00 AM 50's buys this arm tatoo sleeve. It's a product designed for people who want to have awkward, stereotypical tattoo designs all over their arm, but don't want to go through the pain/financial investment involved in a conventional tattoo.

Southwest spirit animal mosaics.

We stop at this awesome roadside shop, painted with a happy cowboy who likes to smoke native american peace pipes.

Beak is smitten with the elephant-related tchotskes, but alas, there a minimum of $300 to purchase.

Spirit Animals.

On the left, a python wearing a top-hat and a mink fur. On the right, a fucked up dude face.

We fit in very well into the southwest culture.

We stop the next night in Tucson and get a cheap motel with a pool. We sit poolside till late, drinking Whiskey Press and swimming leisurely laps. Rock and roll decadence at its finest.

Too much whiskey makes the tummy hurt.

Get your rest boys. San Diego tomorrow.

Texas Toast

Right Photo: This blog will be a smorgasboard of images. They may not always be in chronological order, but fret not, this doesn't dilute their power.

Left Photo: North Texan gigantism is a increasingly common and troublesome problem for today's bears, ex-basketball stars, and poorly painted snakes. Cobra Starship, dudes

 

Before the trip, Beak's mom packed us some delicious snacks, including Triscuits, Wheat Thins, Cheese Whiz, Hot Tamales (the cinamon candy kind, not the real Mexican kind), trail mix and other sundry delicious curiousities. Here, 50's has created some post-modern collage work. More of a mosaic really.

 

These items were for sale at a highway convenience store. There is truly something "convenient" about mid-evil Golem demons.

 

The show on this night is in Denton, Texas home to two colleges (apparently empty on this night), a quaint downtown district, and this sweet-ass city hall that totally looks like some Back to the Future clock-tower lightning storm type situation.

 

We are stealing magnets for every state we visit, eventually creating a map. Except Missouri. Fuck that place.

 

We are sick and tired of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking van.

 

We are forward thinkers. We buy brews BEFORE the show starts in anticipation of what we will want to do AFTER the show ends. This type of foresight is a testament to our sheer genius.

 

Beak sends his love to Cam on a leaf. Totally lovechild 1969 Berkeley sandals type thing.

 

On the way to Houston the next day, one of the van tires blows out. Jordan breaks down some serious top-awesome mechanic work.

 

Those of us with no mechanical knowledge retire to a nearby shaded hilside to drink these pony beers.

 

Dallas buildings appear to all have been constructed inside MC Escher's nightmares.

 

The next day we head to Houston. The club is called the Proletariat and is a) air-conditioned b) having pool tables c) having inexpensive libations d) being staffed by some of the nicest people ever. We win.

 

On the left, Lindsay our old pal from Boston shows up to cheer wildly and buy us beers. A good person to know. On the right, the local margerita joint holds moral values in high regard.

 

Demonic reverse dog tounge vampire visages.

 

Blood, sweat, and tears.

 

Merch alignment.

 

Fatal Flying Guilloteens take the stage and proceed to rip the club a new asshole. Truly amazing. The crowd is out of control. Pitchers of beers flying, one dude in the crowd takes a bottle to the head, stage diving. Total Jesus Lizard in the 1990's type vibe. These guys are seriously great.

 

Afterparty at Roy's. He's got a kickass DVD collection, including a collection of live performances from a 1970's British TV show. Edgar Winter's "Frankenstein" on keytar is awesome, but an early Bruce Springsteen clip of "Rosalita" takes the cake. Springsteen in the 70's was seriously a force to be reckoned with, and the E Street Band is insanely tight. Don't let anyone ever tell you that the Boss is overrated.

 

The next morning we go to get the tire replaced. Jordan does his best "I'm very interested in the directions you're giving me, random mechanic dude" routine.

 

Palm trees. We don't have these in the midwest.

 

Blimp Bizkit.