Hello again!
I’ve really slacked on this blog game. I’ll be updating this daily as of April 1st while I’m on tour. Stayed tuned!
I’ve been slacking, mate.
Really. I have, and I apologize. To myself, not you.
So I got back from Europe/UK a few weeks ago. I had a great time there, and met a ton of really great people. Our bus had Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2, so when I wasn’t busy being smashed around in the bunk, I took it back to Y2K and honed my THPS skills on a regular basis. I truly believe our band could double as a Tony Hawk Pro Skater super team given we were only allowed to skate as Kareem Campbell, Geoff Rowley, or Eric Koston. Those guys are clutch.
While in the UK, we stayed at a lot of Etap/Ibis Hotels. They’re great, and they have bunk beds. Bunk beds can make anything awesome. There should be a rule that if there are bunk beds, it’s game on.
Seb and I tried Haggis. We convinced Josh and Wolf - being the adventurers they are - from The Chariot to pitch in, and we ate the sheep guts together. It wasn’t at all how I had expected it to be. It reminded me of Shepherds Pie. That lived inside of a sheep. Then got cut out and boiled before it got to the sheep-ass.
Either way, I was spared by the Scottish God of Embarrassment. I was not, however, spared by the Scottish God of Fucking-on-the-side-of-the-road. We definitely drove by a dude ferociously bangin’ some swamp-donkey wench on a hill. Scotland is funny like that. So is Wales. But you see, in Wales, they fuck sheep and bang each other over the head with wine bottles.
We played a festival in Belgium. It was fantastic. Some of our best pals/fellow North Americans helped us represent the West side, and we stayed in a shire-lookin’ bed and breakfast. I’m pretty sure it was haunted, but I watched the Goonies and I think that kept the ghouls as occupied as I was.
Finally, we got to Paris. We checked out everything worth checking out (The Eiffel Tower, Napoleons tomb, The Louvre, etc), and in the process walked over 10 miles. I learned a lot throughout the day. Mostly that walking 10 miles is fucking hard. We got back to the bus and our driver crashed into a parked car. That turned in to an elaborate, dramatic, drawn out ordeal, so we fled the scene and went to a church. That church just so happened to be Notre Dame de Paris. It was big for a house, but not very big for a church. I’m lying, it was fucking big for anything. It only took 200 years to build, which sounds to me like they started slacking on the thing almost as soon as they began. I’m lying again, because 200 years is about as close to “fucking forever” as I can comprehend. We ate baguettes at a cafe and scrammed back to the UK.
We played 100 video games in the arcade on the boat. We scammed those fuckers out of 5 GPB, too. If you’re reading this: I’m not sorry for what I did to you.
For the remaining 10 days, I bought a lot of clothing at Primark and ate a lot food at Wetherspoons and Morrisons. We spent the day in York parked in front of Soulfly. The FOH guy was cool enough to give us a quick tour of the city. We checked out The Shambles - one of the oldest parts of York, and walked the entire 14th century castle wall that surrounds the old city. I bonked my head crazy-hard on the ceiling at the venue while we were playing. It was embarrassing, because I was jumping straight up and down. It felt like it squished my head into my torso and that feeling was probably reflected in my face. In York, I learned that I shouldn’t let my face reflect how I feel, because it’s ugly and chicks don’t think that’s cool. We hung out at Stonehenge, spent a few days in London, and I had one of the most memorable times of my life. Oh, and I did this:
I’ve been known to make a face or two.
It’s 5:30am and concluding stories is NOT my forte.
So yeah…
Bye.
Buckingham Palace.
We’ve been in the UK for a few days now. I ‘sploded the adapter for my pedal board by plugging it in to the wall because this country has belligerent power. I made fun of the Queen and some guards at Buckingham Palace, so I figure they heard me and zapped me through the system right before we played.
Rooms are too small here. Beds are smaller. It’s surprising how many people in England don’t speak English. Walkers Grilled Steak Crisps are awesome, and so is Tesco’s 40p per item breakfast.
Hangin’ in Manchester tonight. Hopefully my guitar doesn’t break like it did last night in London. Talk about awkward.
Heres to cold rainy days and havin’ a splendid time with my pals.
Hell Hath No Waste Like Us…
What a fuckin’ awesome tour that was. I’m really glad I had the opportunity to meet and hang out with such a rad group of dudes. I made a bunch of new friends, was caught yelling “mad dece” far too often, and trashed at least one hotel room. That shit is still way too fun and super cool. If girls could see how much ass I kick at breaking shit in hotels, I think they’d like me more. They might even try to have sex with me, which would be the coolest.
Some bird took a gnarly header after we played in Ottawa. I wasn’t sure what the issue was, so when the paramedics arrived I informed them that I had rocked her to death. They didn’t seem very impressed, which bummed me out because I’d be losing my fucking mind if somebody told me they killed a girl by playing their guitar way loud.
Anyways, I’m going to Europe next week. I promised Seb that I’d eat Haggis with him in Scotland and I immediately regret making that decision. Very concerned right now. I just hope it doesn’t make me shit my pants because it would be a bummer to shit your pants in a foreign country. We have a day off in Paris and I’m going to eat Croissants and drink wine. Wine is Francy, right? Either way, I think it’ll be super fun because Paris seems fun and France seems fun and they kinda come as a package.
I think thats all…
My room must be 90 degrees right now. My fingernails are sweating, which is severely impeding my typing abilities. ‘Scuse me while I put ice in my pants in hopes to avoid having a complete and total fucking meltdown induced stroke. I might Chernobyl and die, so I must hurry.
Cheers, big ears.
One Week…
When I’m gone all I can think about is how much I miss everybody at home.
When I’m home all I can think about is how much I miss being gone.
Funny how that works.
I keep forgetting how much a room full of people - present only to hang out with me and a handful of my best friends - greatly improves my day.
Canada for a few, then swimming to Europe. In a plane. Through the sky.
So, well…Not swimming.
Stay below my feet.
