I am bedraggled and under-rested as I write this from the back seat of the van, so forgive me if this entry is lacking in wit and vigor. The drive to Cleveland is 9 1/2 hours, which required us getting up at about 7:30am. That’s like waking up at 4:30am for your office job. I will, however, soldier through this brief diary entry to get you the information you know you want so very badly, and I will say it with panache.
“Why,” said the sallow-faced, yellow-eyed woman in my dream, her face a contorted maze of wrinkles and betrayal, “have you not written another entry in your tour diary?” She clutched the small, sad doll in her hand ever tighter as a skyscraper in the distance fell to its knees and wailed in sympathy. “Why, Vic-20? Why?“ Such are the ontological spasms of my guilt-ridden, blog-neglecting mind. Why, indeed! Well, I’ll tell you: too much has been going on for me to take an hour and commit fingertip to keyboard. Thankfully I have an excellent memory and will do that for you now, seated as I am at a bespoke kitchen table in Madison, WI with tea at the ready.
The United States is a big country, full of wonders too numerous to recount. On our 2 1/2 day road trip along I-80, we managed to miss almost all of them. Aside from the scenery, which ran the gamut from breathtaking to bland, we pretty much saw only the highway and the occasional town located conveniently off the interstate. Oh, and the internet, which has kept us from going mad from cabin fever. It also allows me to blog directly from the van, which lends these tour diary entries that much more authenticity. The bits literally fly out of the passenger-side window, into the atmosphere, and then down through your chimney and into your rug, where internet elves package them up and deliver them through the tiny holes in your computer’s serial port. See? They’re still relevant!
As I sit here in the van about 40 miles outside of Portland, filling Vanna up with gas and listening to the saucy lyrics and thumping electro beats of Fischerspooner – for which one of my former Northport classmates, Gia Mele, is a dancer – I find myself reflecting on just how much we are going to miss the west coast. Dramatic vistas, vast oceanic expanses and a culture that fundamentally embraces weirdness in all its many forms are but a few of the perks of this side of the country. Another perk: beach house getaways! At least, it’s a perk if you know Mo McFeely, ace librarian and Trivial Pursuit master. Located in the lovely seaside hamlet of Manzanita, our sandy abode – named Spindrift – was bequeathed to the employees of the Portland Public Library by a wealthy bibliophile in 1907 so that they may forever have a place to rest their weary bones. And have wild librarian parties. Sadly, all we did was make dinner and go to bed early. But still! We needed the rest. Thank you, Mo! You rule.
Nerdcore fans in Seattle know how to sing. Loudly. They are also adept at putting videos on the YouTubez. That’s what we learned last night when we played the High-Dive. What a fantastic show! It was by far the most energetic crowd we’ve had yet on the tour. Sorry, Gainesville! You have been dethroned. It more than made up for the crushing defeat I suffered during a miniature golf outing with Brandon and Peter, which put me in a funk because I am apparently “success-oriented.” I mean, who isn’t? Do people actually like losing? I don’t think so.
“W00t.” The nerd rallying cry. This is a powerful, emotionally charged term among those who prefer LAN parties over keggers. It also adequately describes my feeling of excitement as we rolled into Seattle for our 14-minute set at W00tstock, a traveling nerd music-and-comedy circus put on by Paul and Storm, Wil Wheaton and Adam Savage. According to Wikipedia, “w00tstock” is a portmanteau of wooly, magnets and buttock. The show was held at the Moore Theatre, a gorgeous and mysterious theatre built in 1907 which is cavernous and filled with weird passageways, haunted dressing rooms and even a special upper balcony with its own discrete entranceway, an artifact of the era of segregation. Though not as large, it surpassed in impressiveness the stage we played at PAX East.
WHAT’S UP TOUR DIARY FANS! We are back. The break was nice, if not entirely relaxing, but it is over now. Lots of exciting things transpired, not the least of which was the last day of our drive to San Francisco. After braving a salt storm on the Bonneville Flats the night before and gambling away our woes in Elko, NV, we thought the worst was behind us. Then we hit Lake Tahoe and, just as we were about to cross into California, we saw a sign: CHAINS REQUIRED. Noooooooooooo! Sadly, yes. Suffice it to say that three tired, grumpy dudes on the side of the highway in the snow with no experience applying chains and no waterproof pants does not a plethora of jollity make. It wasn’t all cursing and awkward silence, though: we stopped at a mountain rest stop and I got some hot cocoa. Yum!
Wshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmoo. That is the sound the wind makes as it whips its way through the musky fur of the hirsute steers here on the snowy plains of Wyoming. Look it up. Or, better yet, add it to Wikipedia. Such questionable facts must proliferate. Like Juggalos. Were you, gentle blogophiles, aware of their existence? I was not, until Front alerted me to the fact after our show in Wichita, at which I referenced ICP’s treatise on the nature of existence, specifically regarding electromagnetism. Apparently there was a real-life Juggalo there. Who knew?
Apparently there are rumors swirling around the blogosphere that I have “hit a wall” and lost the burning desire to travel the country in a van and play music. I suspect these fanciful musings are a result of this post in which I related the inglorious side of touring. Fear not, faithful readers! I soldier on and am happy to do so, grateful as I am to be driving and rocking and barely sleeping rather than embiggening my posterior in an Herman Miller chair. How else, for instance, would I have happened upon the placid lakehouse you see here? Were it not for playing Maxine’s with the One-Ups, it would not have been.
I never thought I’d thank bacteria on my blog, but here I go: thank you, streptococcal germs! It may seem insensitive to Front for me to be so grateful to the little buggers that caused him so much anguish, but without them I and the rest of the band wouldn’t have been able to see the sights of Oklahoma City, home to my favorite band The Flaming Lips. There is so much to see! Thanks to Eric for taking us to the Oklahoma City Arts Festival at Festival Plaza. What an awesome park! There are crazy buildings that look cool but leak, man-made bodies of water and the truly impressive Crystal Bridge, a suspended terrarium featuring a rain forest and multiple running waterfalls, all inside a big-ass tube of glass and metal. Amazing!
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