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.

LFK is AOK

Lawrence (aka Lawrence Fucking Kansas, aka LFK) is another midwest college town that is inexplicably awesome. We have lots of old friends here, and it will be mad bitching to see them tonight. That's right: mad bitching.

 

Murdered arachnid corpse remnants.

 

Midwest. Hardland/Heartland, literally.

 

Ditto.

 

The show is at the Jackpot Saloon, which, like most things worth seeing in Lawrence, is right on Massachusetts Street, the main strip. The bartender's name is Thad, and he is keeping the drinks flowing at a discount rate.

 

Before the show, Jordan buys a 64 ounce Diet Coke. Literally one half gallon of liquid. He takes it down like a man. This leads to a long conversation about whether or not you could physically drink a gallon of lifuid in an hour with out dying. Results are still inconclusive; further testing needed.

 

Our old friend Dan Davis is in town. Beak, Dan, and Jeff illustrate how having a lot of money makes you really cool.

 

The stage is surrounded by red velvet wall paper with crazy 1800's wild west patterns. Totes prohibition in this piece. Sweaty rock shows commence.

 

This has happened before but it happens again. Someone in the crowd buys TPC a round of shots and beers during the set if they agree to play "Let's War." They do so. Here, Matt explains why he doesn't fear the serpent.

 

Hopkins represent bitches. Our old friends Paul and Nick are in town for the night, carousing and raging.

The skies open up on us as we try to load out the van after the show. This turns into an intense military-style exercise where we have to work together to get the gear loaded with minimal moisture ragings.

 

Afterparty at Christine's. Beer in cans, rap music on the stereo. Completely different than every other night. Here, Chance is showing us his middle-school boxing championship trophies.

 

Modern communion. Jesus and the disciples got nothin on this.

 

Sean, aka Dogbert, shows up with an awesome umbrella, a Montreal shirt and some Coors Light.

 

The rain continues to pummel the virginal Lawrence landscapes, but we are protected and safe in this awesome porch.

 

Late night mind warp. Comparing the size of feet with the size of a chip. There are pretty different. In terms of size. Like, how big they are compared to one another.

This is what Axl was thinking about when he wrote "November Rain."Totes symbolic.

 

This rain is just getting brazen now. Come on. Just chill out with the water coming from the sky thing you got going on, mother nature. Shit is out of hand.

 

The first drunken dance party of the tour. We enlist a couple of the house's residents to join us in a rousing sesh of Jay-Z and Kelis.

 

Get that dirt of your shoulder, Lawrence.

 

50's illustrates his patened new "point at your friends" dance move.

 

The next morning, we drag ourselves out of bed early to hit the road to Texas (or Tejas, or Tehas). Kansas treats us to green rolling hills and a shit ton of clouds on our way out.

 

Midwest pride.

Tour! Tour! Tour! - Iowa City!

Wednesday night at the Entry, Building Better Bombs is playing a show at the Entry for Lorio Barbero and Randy Hawkins. Also, Atmosphere was the "surprise guest" for the event. Before the show, Isaac shows us his tear duct.

 

B Cubed get pissed, rock the Entry, Isaac wears triple-guitar shirt, news at 11.

 

Outside, Meghan shows us how you're supposed to smoke cigarettes when you're hanging out in front of the Hard Rock cafe. Totally heroin-era grunge model steez.

 

McTubbins and 1/8th of Jawsdog's head are at the show as well. Fresh from the success of Hardland/Heartland, these assholes are in a positively fantastic mood.

 

Friday morning, we get up bright and early and head over to 50's house. We're loading up the van to kickoff TPC's two week west coast tour. That's right, this blog becomes a travelblog starting....NOW. For the next two weeks.

 

Locked and loaded.

 

Southern Minnesota recreational boating styles. Ominous cloud formations.

 

A giant cows ass suspended 200 feet in the air.

 

Northern Iowa casino styles, midwest wastelands.

 

At this truck stop restauraunt, the chef is apparently a snow-covered pine cone. That is fucked. I wouldn't want my breakfast made by an inanminate descendent of a tree. It's about this time that we get the word that the show in St. Louis is being moved to Iowa City. We are stoked cause, as you maybe know, Iowa City is somehow one of the awesomest cities around.

 

We get into town early due to the reroute, so we head to Lake McBride, twenty minutes out of the city. It is at this very lake that Jordan lost his glasses at the beach two whole months ago. To our amazement, they were waiting for him patiently at the park lost and found. Here he is, celebrating by making a weird face.

 

Interesting things happen on tour. This is not one of them.

In Iowa City, Beak makes a sales pitch for the Support Broke Rappers Foundation. It's totally like that crying Indian when the garbage got thrown on his mocassins. Support your local broke rapper today.

 

Our old good friend Jacki Becker from Lawrence, KS has recently bought what used to be Gabe's Oasis, IC's best venue. She just finished rehabbing it and bring it up to date, and TPC are playing there tonight on one of its first night's back in business.

 

We still have hours to go before the show, so we go to this awesome dive bar called the Deadwood where they have $1.50 domestic taps. We get a nice afternoon buzz going. Also, you can smoke cigarettes in bars in Iowa. Genius.

 

They have a drink called Pussy Juice.

 

50's begins a quest to find Jesus. This is a pure-hearted and ambitious quest fraught with trials and tribulations. He is determined and prepared for any foe, great or small. Here, he is too intense for Bill, frightening him like a small child.

I can see how he would be confused here: the beard, the serene smile, the religious overtones. But, sorry dude, that is so not Jesus.

A dog? Now that's just absurd. More likely than not Jesus is a dude, not a canine.

 

50's ends his quest back at the Picador, angry, confused, spiritally bankrupt.

 

Jeff hangs out with our old friend Dolla Bill. Jacki is giving everyone free tallboys. Hey, she's the owner, she can do whatever she wants. Who are we to complain?

 

TPC is the first band to put their sticker up on the Picador's walls. Truly historic.

 

Beak and Jeff are making some intense gestures with their hands, making concise and confident statements to each other while selling shit tons of merch.

 

Also playing this night is soul legend Andre Williams and the Diplomats of Sound. He was crazy and awesome. He looked a bit like Saddam Hussein but without teeth. He kept smacking his gums and unbuttoning his shirt. The crowd loved him and his songs about having sex with 17 year olds ("Jail Bait"). Dad, I don't know if you read this blog or not, but in the off chance that you do, I think you would've enjoyed this guy.

 

The legend up close and personal. Each song had about 2 lines of lyrics repeated over and over, interspersed with the band vamping for 5 minutes and Andre dancing about as actively as a 65-year old can.

 

Jeff drinks 4 beers at once, a new world record.

 

A ton of free beer + good vibes = one of the drunker TPC sets ever.

 

Jeff in mid leg kick.

 

The crowd is hot and bothered and down with the jams. That's Jacki's head whipping around in the bottom right.

 

Afterparty at Molly's, in the basement. We listen to the new Paris Hilton record and drink beer from cans. This is roughly what the rest of the tour will be like, probably. Each night.

 

Our host for the night, Dolla Bill.

 

The next morning we go with Bill and Bob and Urs to the Hamburg for breakfast. We form eating teams, two teams of four. We compete on awesomeness of order choice, clean plate ratio, and grace of eating style.

 

Serious eating competition ensues. No smiles in the group, all business.

 

The glorius results. We split town and head to Lawrence Fucking Kansas.

 

 

I lied, this blog took way to long.

Friday night at our place on the hottest night of the summer. Everyone comes over to enjoy central air, brews, smokes, and yes, more Guitar Hero. Tubs and Jeff duel on "Cowboys from Hell" by Pantera.

Jaws is back in town after her summer of photo-assisting across the country, and she brought back this little puppy. We are trying to help her with names and offer these options: Oprah, Harpo, Filthy McGriddles, Laquanda, Mammy, Angry Black Woman. None of those seem to impress Jaws. Tevs. The night ends late, with all the beers cashed and the oppresive heat outside subsiding to the point that one could drive home without being burned alive.

The next day we head up to Matt's parents cabin in Cross Lake, MN. It is so fucking hot outside still, so putting a plastic deck chair in the lake and drinking a can of Miller High Life is basically exactly what you want to do with your time. Consider it done.

Shirtless Jeff, ready to tube. He officially wins the title of whitest man alive.

50's pulls out his parent's speed boat, throws on the official captain's hat (aka a visor from a golf tournament in northern Minnesota), and flashes the thumbs up. In the back, the Frequent Flyer is ready for extreme tubing action.

50's and Jeff on the tube. Thumbs up means faster, thumbs down means slower, and moving your hand across your neck means I want to stop. As you can see, these assholes want to go faster.

The results of increased speed. The picture doesn't do the extremeitude of this stunt justice, as a millisecond after this shot was taken Jeff is thrown easily ten feet in the air and lands on his back.

Back at the cabin, 50's family is getting totes Mediterranean -- hand-crafting pasta noodles with the raw ingredients. What's next, planting an olive tree? Seriously though, the pasta was awesome.

Sitting down to eat the pasta. Sunlight coming in through the trees, the lake in the background, some white wine. We are feeling mad luxurious. Truly an awesome end to the weekend.

The next week, we head to 50's house Friday night and watch him do some homeowner Bob Vila-type shit. He's adding siding to his house while simultaneously dropping a huge hammer every 5 minutes, almost killing us in the process. We can't really complain though, because he's busting his ass while we drink Budwesiers and eat pizza on his deck.

The grime steez results. What a dirty asshole.

Later that night, peeps show up for a yard fire. I didn't take many pictures of this, but there were a lot of people that just randomly showed up. It was awesome.

A different night, now we're on Colezone's patio. Julie shows us her new surgery scar. Totally bad-ass.

BBQ, brews, animated conversations that I'm having a hard time remembering, some Ikea chairs that Jeff keeps calling "Knurgens." It's a patio-warming party for Colezone -- her dad is a cement patio guru and built her this huge awesome patio that takes up like half of her yard. We are breaking it in.

Not really sure what's going on here. Danielle is really sad either that her burger is gone or that this pickle said something really rude to her. Or both.

The party hostess in all her red-shirted glory. My memory starts to get hazy at this point. I got pretty awesome this night. Apparently some video exists of me snorting like a pig and burying my face in my hands. I hope it never surfaces.

Radio and Lucy play puppy games.

Another night, it's our friend Adam's birthday! We go to the Northside to hang out with him. He pulls out old, old, awesome videos from high school. This one is of our old band Poland, playing at the Foxfire. I'm 17 at the time and wearing a full-length pink dress with Pink Converse. I'm playing the bass. Adam is the singer, wearing what was essentially the outfit he wore everyday at that time to work at the Hopkins 6 movie theatre -- wrinkled white dress shirt, black tie, jeans. We are the best.

The birthday boy with his new hat. He is a member of the E.S.P. club -- Exciting, Sexy, and Polish.

The next day, Jeff and I drive down to Decorah, IA to visit his grandparents for the day. On the way down, we stop at this insane little graveyard in Preston, MN. This guy apparently thought hawks were awesome.

This family was buried together, and had marble cuttings of their faces made. There is some sort of weird hippie-ish dancing baby in the background, too.

Farmlands.

The next weekend is a busy one. On Saturday, we go to a wedding in the afternoon, then head over to the Soap Factory for Hardland/Heartland, a crazy-sweet art/music/visual installation by McTubbins and ETC, with help from Finger Tap and many others. Here, Jeff is standing over a hole in the floor. Beneath it is the bloodied skeletal remains of a beast, and written in blood is "Bleak Future." McTubbins is crazy.

Crazy shanty spheres of the apocalyptic alternate future. In the background is John Tapp's future city.

WTF, dudes. So awesome.

The Gamut start playing in an elevator shaft, dressed as quixotic minstrels of the alternate future. Really though, that's just Tall Bikes under there. He's trying to act all mysterious and crazy, but I'm all like "dude, you're still that guy from Iowa City with the funny glasses."

The Gamut turns into the Black Gamut and start raging in this elevator shaft. Nice loincloths, dudes. I can't overstate how awesome this whole installment was. Way to go McTubbins and all!

We have to leave early to head over to the Turf Club, where the reception for the wedding we went to in the afternoon is being held. Cam and Mindy surround the bride, Jae. The place is packed with good, old friends.

Somehow this signs basically sums up my life.

The basement of the Turf Club used to be called the Clown Lounge and have clown-themed paintings all over the place. Now its more of a northwoods cabin from the 1950's kind of thing. 50's shows off the old beer cans they have everywhere.

Danielle shows off the trout. Jeff raises his beer to show his support for fish and Danielle.

I show off this illuminated northwoods photo and, I get pretty awesome.

Jeff and Slayer getting real.

Luke shows us the perks of being the brother of the groom. His is looking rather dandy in his wedding outfit, and the Guiness is really part of the whole ensemble. We close the Turf down. A packed day overall. Jeff and I go home, start listening to Led Zeppelin II and both realize at the same time that we're exhausted. We sleep like kings. Drugged kings with narcalepsy.