Good tidings from the lush freeze of Olympia, Wash.! When I last reported, we were deep in the righteous squalor of a San Louis Obispo punk house. Now we're making soup in the state capital, and our evergreen friends here have yet to take down their Halloween decorations.
Bad jokes have been a staple of amusement on this tour. Here's a lovely one-liner from our bass player, Chris, that's been drawing groans all up the West Coast:
So, Mrs. Lincoln, other than that, how was the play?
Buh-dum, crash!
Stephen, French Quarter himself, made an excellent point as we waved goodbye to the SLO kids and headed toward Port Costa. He said, while on tour, we're experiencing each city as a day in the life of a true resident. When we arrive in a new town, we're not going to lame tourist traps or even notable landmarks. Our free time is spent hanging out, talking shop and hunting for cheap eats just like every other local youth.
Our 24 hours as Port Costa, Calif. dwellers were by far my favorite, even though I came down with a cold. The former wheat boomtown is 30 minutes northeast of the Bay Area, and is only accessible through a windy but gorgeous side street. Post Costa has a population of 237, and 40 of them came out to the only bar in town to see the show. I got to nap and recover in our hostess's warm loft above the bar as the rain fell. We drank Long Island iced teas out of Mason jars and learned about the town crazies who never leave their cottages. It felt like somebody sneezed on a Norman Rockwell painting.
We then hopped the bridge to San Francisco and played at our friends' house. We spent the whole time drinking various Pabst brews and dropping "Kids in the Hall" quotes. After perfecting it unplugged on the stairwell, we treated the audience to a cover of the show's theme song at the end of the set. Everybody went wild, and then we guzzled more Pabst.
We were very sorry to leave the Bay. It was in our next stop, Sacramento, where we were served the first total bummer of the tour: a parking ticket. How were we supposed to know it was garbage day? The evils of parking enforcement know no bounds.
On top of the ticket was a growing concern about finances. Even though we got to see the ocean in Arcata, Calif., we didn't make very much at the show. Our budget was down to $15 when we pulled up to the venue in Portland, Ore. To make matters worse, the headlining act (a regionally popular singer who will go unnamed) had forgotten about the show and was unreachable. Stephen was visibly upset as he considered a possible tour cancellation.
However, the Portland show ended up becoming our best-played and most profitable gig. The venue had a full P.A. system, our invitees brought loads of friends and we sold nearly twenty records. We ate gourmet hot dogs the next morning and have been riding high since.
Also, I took a shower in Portland, the first in weeks. So good.
