Last night of the trip, Bombs Away Cafe, Corvallis, OR. I’ve been running on an average of 3 to 4 hours of sleep since this thing started. Team Bubble Cats are all pretty out of it and we’re coming up with stupid jokes to pass time. Bits that technically shouldn’t be funny, but to a carload of stinky, sleep deprived dudes, it’s comedy genius. I’m eating a yogurt. “What are you eating there, is that a muscle milk shooter?” Somehow the idea of muscle milk is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard. My dormant 13-year-old sense of humor has risen to the surface, and is now completely in control. That hill over there looks like a butt.
I’ve learned a lot of this trip. 1. Don’t assume anything about anyone. Give people a chance to show you who they are. Some of the nicest people are right in front of you. 2. Sleep more. Naps would have helped moods and general health. 3. Water. Put it inside of you, as well as using it to wash up.
I know in a lot of these post I’ve focused on the debauchery and crazy shit we’ve encountered. It’s more colorful to talk about that stuff I suppose, and often I’m just trying to track what I think might be the more interesting details. But in doing so maybe I’ve left out the heart of the story.
I’m going back over this blog, trying to correct my grammar, and now I have a chance to reflect on what it is I’m trying to say here. I wanted to add some of the other points that maybe weren’t as extreme, reactionary, grumpy, or just plain stupid. In between all the driving there were those thoughtful, quiet moments. Starring out at the ocean from Baker Beach (before the naked man and his gray baby arm). Admiring the rolling green fantasy-esque atmosphere of Southern Oregon from the window of a van. The forever brown, garbage covered plains, punctured by wind turbines between SF and Modesto, CA. The sea of Crackheads, scratching and shuffling around The Mission district. The pirates and wenches who operate Oberon’s Tavern. The plague that is the California driver - seriously no turn signals, you fucking ass?
I’m thankful for the conversations I had with my band, as well as The Violent Psalms beardos. I don’t feel like I got to know them better as people in the traditional way of becoming friends, it was something else. Going on tour with another band lets you see them in an entirely unique light. I’m not sure what the word for it is, but speaking for myself, I feel there is a bond between the 7 of us now, that couldn’t have happened any other way.
Seeing a band night after night, their music sneaks its way inside your soul. Now those wilting, well-crafted tunes are the soundtrack of my subconscious. All day they are playing over and over in my head. At times I think this is what its like being a dirty hippie who follows Phish, except my Phish is these three bearded dudes, singing about some really sad stuff. Never did I find myself spinning with my arms raised or taping into someone’s mellow. I wasn’t even wearing my tie-dye socks (I didn’t even pack them)… Wait, it’s nothing like following Phish. It’s more like having that single CD in your car and just letting it play every single day, as you make the one hour commute to a job that is killing you. You don’t realize it at first, but slowly the noise peels back the layers of your mind, and you notice that there’s something about this band, there’s something meaningful here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HT_n-ut2EPU
So yeah, these guys are now my favorite Portland band.
