We’re starting to show some cracks. Lost clothing, busted drum heads, guitar scuffs, swollen wrists, purses held together by keychains, smooshed leaking toothpaste tubes, cold pizza for breakfast. But some things remain constant. Nicole still gets whistled at every gas station.The drive from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Columbia, Missouri was mired in bugs, manure, humidity, and drab, empty stretches of anti-scenery. Roadside c’mons offered little more than fireworks and things to get your dick hard. It’s the reason why tornadoes frequent this part of the country. The weather is punishing the landscape for being an unbearable bore.
Somewhere in Missouri we found fast food freedom. Jim chose a styrofoam box of Panda Express, Nicole opted for a Chipotle salad, and I gave my money to the hate cause over at Chic-Fil-A. Judge me all you want, but the carrot raisin salad was to die for in an abortion clinic bombing.
Mojo’s in Columbia was an oasis. We hadn’t seen any like-minded individuals for 1,500 miles. Josh from the club greeted us warmly, and gave me a lead on the nearest music shoppe. Mojo’s gave us drinks and of all things…a soundcheck! Like a real soundcheck with monitors and everything. For the first time on the tour I could clearly hear my bass drum, Nicole’s bass, Jim’s guitar, and both vocals. It was like we were a band in a rock club or something.
Monday night in Columbia proved dead for tonight’s two band bill. Nevertheless Marshall, Missouri’s Cauldron Point brought forth guitar heroics and a solid rhythm section. They smashed me with their Grandmaster Flash cover. Or was it Chic? Whatever that one song is with that “Good Times” bass line and some rapture over it.
“We’re a weird band,” they admitted into the microphone.
Based on this new concept of having a sound mix, we played a fun, driven set to a handful of gracious Columbians. My ride cymbal waved the Don’t Tread On Me mini-flag that I purchased at Mt. Rushmore. I tried out a new look with white, rolled-up shorts and a cream polo. It was kinda tennis hipster. Back to the drawing board. Dudes approved of the Beefheart cover, and “Sun Comes Out” closed the entertainment portion of the evening as a circle of coeds danced.
Josh saved our hides by putting us up for the night in his comfy Columbia digs. I admired his collection of 7″s from this year’s Bruise Cruise and Victoria’s Secret catalog while Hot Tub Time Machine wallpapered our winding down chinwagging. Also on the menu were nightcaps of Makers, cayenne peppered popcorn, and a wacky bag of tricked out Meow Mix. Did you know that today’s teenagers are dipping tampons in vodka and inserting them up their butts?