Sunday, February 10, 2008

Hyoobs log 4

1/30 La Cave, Costa Mesa:
Stop at Pat's parent's house for a home-cooked meal. Christmas carols at the piano. Show in La Cave underground red light stead house where Sinatra once played. Fluid skatechow steeze. Dolphin City Sirens are super cool. Drummer hooks us up with tangelos. He and bassist dude trippin on lysergic. Good natured dudes all around. Gloria is excitable. She likes my contact mic show. I feed her some grapefruit, squish it in her face. She spits a nipple of bitter flesh onto my crushed velvet jacket. Potent plant genitals. Long drive in the dark to Encinidas past nuclear reactor boobies. Wobbling in the road as the wind rocks the ship. Paradise beach cliff gazing down on distant wave paintings unfolding in the moon glaze. Let Port's coral snake curl my fingers. Great to see Davenport. Remember what a great artist he is. Wish he wasn't laying dormant on his skills. Seagull with a gun barrel coming out its beak. I invite too many people to his house and arrive too late. His housemate is PMS pissed, a great text message war ensues ('I didn't know you had become an 80 year old grandma over night!') Have to find a new place to sleep tomorrow night. Perhaps it would be best to travel just as a band of fraternal brothers next tour. Its awsome having support of homies, but at some point you just gotta jump off the cliff and greet the outside world naked and exposed. Additionally, the more people in the caravan, the more logistical difficulties.

1/31 Chasers, San Diego:
Weak sauce idle unproductive day searching for a Kaoss Pad power adaptor. Easton's birthday. Interview in the car with Peteums. What's our preference? What is this tour all about? Intense retrospection. Idea for web album: release one song every week w/tracks, video, photos, lyrics. Compile whole ting at end into an album. Took a shit in a bush near a parking garage. Grant is watching, laughing. Soon after I am doing cartwheels down a grassy hill in the park. Something stinks: It's dog shit on my hand! Karma or poetic justice? Pizza on El Cajon Blvd. Nietzsche provides new perspectives. Shaming people is sinful. Chasers is empty when we arrive. Stochastic sound of cheap computer lottery games. Vaginals offshoot is odd and refreshing. Junk percussion ratchet rhythms and chaotic synthpop sounds. Maria (the drummer) got wind from her friend who played at the Hyperion tavern the same night as us that we were a bunch of premadonnas. It's hilarious that there's a pack of electrogoth rockers in LA that have a vendetta against us. Nevertheless, we get along great with Maria. She's super cool and lets us stay at her artful house. Insect x-rays and formaldehyde bat specimens from Necromance, a taxodermy-style shop. Toy keyboards and superhero dolls with cameltoes.

2/1 San Diego
Next day has 3 shows in store for us. An arty high school in Encinidas where the kids get enthused. Probably our most engaged audience. Asking about odd timesignatures, the programs that Ben uses, snatching for Battlerags, buying CDs. These people are the future and I'm stoked! Show at UCSD radio. Wacky interview, live set, songs from our EP. Ben quits. We break up at the end of the Bahs. Make-up reunion show at downtown nighttime house party show. JP is super chillin as the host of our evening. Ceiling is head high. Airplanes zooming overhead less than 100 m away. It's like Back in the USSR is starting every 15 minutes. A ton of awesome, supportive people at the party. MC's in mexican wrestler masks open for us. Step up rappers rock the house. MC Universe spiting mad inspirational flow. Kristin is beautiful and elusive. The GOP play five new songs under the pseudonym 'Le Elephantes.' New homey Randy comes to all 3 of our San Diego shows. Port describes local middle-aged washed out hairmetal heros: coke exploits and drunken shenanegans. Pat finds a bag of yayo. Lucky lady down the street. Little pomeranian pooch humping stuffed animals, lapping up barf and alcohol.

2/2 Narducci's Cafe, Bakersfield
At breakfast before heading to Bakersfield, Grant rolls into a thrift store with a fork in upper lip. Bananas in hand with a yellow shirt inspecting some yellow hightops "oh, these are Italian." Total passe. Drive to last show is heinous. Tired, disheveled. 2 pot bars in my belly. Girl talk in Easton's car. I'm giddy and pensive alternatingly. Mayhaps I will move to Solvang and raise a gaggle of children. First will be the pipelayer. We'll need water. Next will be the tillerman. We'll need food. Next will be the archetect. We'll need shelter, preferably of a thatched roof style. Windmills, copper roofs, hand-carved scrollwork and leaded windows. The need for a new Bible. Byzantine wing'd sentinels mark Casino gates. Indian braves guard big box store roofs. New memes: Crockus. Shanahan. BRATROCK, Inky Beak Wielder. Fish and chips plus $15 bar tab each at the cowboy tavern. Set is marred by technical difficulties. Amps falling off the rickety stage, cables and effects crapping out. Sound man can't get levels correct. Can't hear each other. Disappointed to not play well for Health. Hardcore band after us: "No more of this hippy shit.' Drummer gets in fight w/ audience member, whose girlfriend thinks it's our band. She runs out of the club and starts wailing on our van. Show gets cancelled at the beginning of Health's set. Smoke a spliff w/ an enthusiastic girl just fresh from Morocco/ Spain. Sniff some yack, long hyper-critical drive home. Trip was a success. No pull overs, tickets, breakdowns, missed shows, nor illnesses (aside from one massively uncomfortable bout with the 7-11 bathroom stiff shits).

Hyoobs log 3

1/27 City of angels:
Blood pumping fast as we approach downtown. Late night blaplery at Max's house. Grant buys tacos and burritos, punts them into the rafters. Nasty shoe. Snag a bite of the burrito before it gets chucked into the glass Steinway display. "i hate fucking consuming!" Pass out at the blues bar. Big ass bass drum.

1/28 LA
Street performing at the Santa Monica promenade. Shoe shiner wants us to play next to her. Cedric Bixler-Zavala rolls by twice with eyes that burn distant, vacant like Mercury. The original singer for Motley Cru is dressed in black like a space cowboy. He's 'just here to set the record strait, clear all the rumors and stories.' We manage 3 songs before the po-po comes. Got a young new fan: junior Nick in a pea coat gets a battlerag and a CD. High Schoolers at the burger joint are lovin it. Rocking the call and response jam while we head back to the battlevan. Trying to find a place to rock out on Venice Beach. The psychic is pissed she has to take her palm reading indoors. Couldn't she see us coming? Her son is flipping us the bird from behind the sliding glass door. Some vagrants want a quarter. I tell them to give me a beer. Homeless harmonica players sit in with us. Harry Perry has some new blades, chasing a girl around with his apocalyptic metal phaser riffs. Buff blackman with hiked up shorts looking fly bouncing up the strip. Japanese chicas snapping shots while i give them the thumbs up; binocular treatment. First LA show is noise rock night at Pehrspace. 6 bands, 20 minutes each. A bunch of friends showed up: The Space Collective cru, Amelia and co., Yoshi and Melissa, Andrew, Janet, Stevie, M, etc. Last band (NASA space universe) is a collective of a dozen or so hipsters dressed in cut n' paste tribal neon w/sweat bands. One dude has piezoelectric whiskers that he solders on in real time. Ex-drummer for the Germs is outside chugging dual 40s wearing a burka. Turns out he's the host of the electro-Goth night at Hyperion Tavern, where we played the following night.

1/29 Pehrspace, Echo Park:
A hole in the wall w/no markings to distinguish the place. Noisy bit-crusha electro kareoke style with the goth punk fashionistas. Awesome videos projected behind us. Stage is far too small for an act like us. I set up minimal style on the ground. Tensions were high, so we played a fast, fierce set. Angry at the tow company that made Easton pay $125. Intimidated by the opening acts that were capping on us, saying that we should play first and leave or come back once everybody else has gone home. I overheard them talking about our set at Pehrspace: "They were causing a scene getting drunk in the parking lot and taking forever to get set up" [not true: we set up outside and brought everything in right away]. Turns out the haters were having some troubles of their own. Couldn't control their equipment, couldn't hold a pitch, cultish and exclusionary. Nevertheless we won over the crowd and had a great time. Way down with the level of piecechow steeze and for the most part got a kick out of the other acts. Mongolian lord with the jeweled pigtail locks. Wonder what his family jewels are like. Max was bellig, yelling "more hooch!" in the middle of other sets. The Church of Scientology Dianetics Center looms like an infomercial: "Free Stress Readings. Just read the Book." Kicking it at the Space Collective pad. Garden of Eden in the back. Bookshelves filled with scifi, technology, art, philosophy, psychology tomes. Rene schools me on immaterial architecture. Emergent computer visuals. Serendipitous film making. Megan's invention of a mirrored box that you wear on your head. You can look out, but others only see their own face. Mad props to Max for being an awesome host. Big old pot of stew, massage chair, more Rock Band. Puter is hilarious. Short college radio show took way too much effort to move all our ishtar. Pretending I'm a stoned, apathetic god with my deep, echoing contact mic necktie.

Hyoobs log 2

1/26 Notes from the front seat, highway 101:
Aqueducts. Terra-form'd patches of spring green amongst the brown. Morrey patterns in chain-link bridge overpasses. 'Strippers wanted' sign on the warehouse sidewall. WWII biplanes coasting over antique farm equipment. Discarded roses in a drainage ditch. Icy castle complex perches on distant mammary mountains. Bovines speckle rolling spring stubble like pepper in the hills. 'Mr. Lubrication' sign next to 'your pet's best friend.' Golfball water silo lurking over a sleeping graveyard barn town. Single-tooth'd guppy man snatches listlessly at our gift of fruit. Candy apple cornrow girl swigging her redbull outside an overpriced Chevron, yappin on the old cell phone. Scarecrows litter empty vineyards like ghosts with noone to haunt. Grant is the Catfish for today. Silly string strait to the facial. Stopped to play outdoors in downtown San Louis Obispo. While I'm taking a whizz in the creek, a minnie mouse diary whirls right toward me. Nothing too spicy inside, just some contact info. An off duty police officer loves our set; hooks us up with some flow cause we played a Zappa song for him.

Biko Garage, Isla Vista:
Oil platforms look like lite bright clowns in the dark rainstorm. Dancing in the rain. Drunk party girls with limp wrists want to know my name. Silly string comes in handy during the set. Gypsy prog and sea chanty folk from the other bands. Confederate country rock band from the bayou playing at the Isla Vista pizza shop. Contact dancer girl gets buck wild in the music room; pegged with Dissociative Personality Disorder, I think she's just got energy to burn. Gnarley tribal percussion jam late into the night with AJ tossing cymbals onto concrete for the finale.

1/27 Experimental Cafe, Occidental:
Played an experimental set at the cafe with antique mechanique games of skill. Getting down with the contact mic/ microcube set-up. Great to see Amelia and friends. It's been awhile. Vato neighborhood. Cactus-covered hillsides. Dilapidated motels w/ exposed woodgrain. Morose lawn ornaments: Rats on skulls, gargoyles. Chilling tought with Tiff and Chris. Rocking out punk rawk stylee with Chris' electronic drumset. Dancing with Rambo the pooch.Acres of pristine gas guzzlers await their graves. Empty bank offices piss into the night sky. Chevron and MickyDees in cahoots: Rulers of the highway plutocracy. Franchise after franchise strip mall culture. Stormy island looks typhoon windswept with brown murky water; can't see the sun.

Hyoobs log 1

Notes from the front seat Sacramento-style:

1/24 Fire Escape Bar and Grill, Citrus Heights:
First, confessional time: Smoked my first cigarette in the van after we decided not to smoke in the van. Macked some fried chicken that wuz cleaned at 5 am by tombo's grandma. Met a bunch of roller girls from Sactown. Gave me the nickname 'fuzzy.' Better than my previous 'puber.' Candy Krusha with the golfers' cap sends me spinning on the rock lobster dance floor. Turns out she's married and just likes to drive boys crazy. She's talking with a miserably-toothed ghost of a mang (clearly blap'd and confrontational). I just wanna know why the cocks are crooning in the middle of the night. He points to the moon and calls it 'the sun.' "Figure it out your fucking self" he croaks, eyes half-closed.

1/25 Java Lounge, Sacramento:
Punk as a Doornail is a hilarious duo we lurked with at the Java Cafe: shooting each other with capguns, guitars made out of old skateboards, garbage cans for donations, flipping the bird and chucking drumsticks at each other. Funny self-depricating songs written on the spot such as 'sad and horny' and 'you break you buy' (mosh pit song). Manic woman pacing up and down the sidewalk, ranting about the 'greatest orgasm ever!,' humping street posts, raving to the heavens, trying to snatch grant's leg. Shark tooth'd punk rokker offers some crystal, moshes violently then passes out on the couch during a young hardcore band's set. Got to see Tets again. It's been years. Rolled some claydough with a girl from Ben's job at the old folks home. Senior citizens just want some company. Yellow checkerboard tiles in the diner. Awesome art by a local (Skinner): Quetzalcoatl slithers cunningly above the doorway. Werecats and vampire bats stare intently at the cartoon of a girl getting her ass licked. Mad respect for illustrators who draw attractive figures with the most minimal lines. Todd's neighbor works on his Harley all day long. Two generators and a 45 over the mantelpiece. He knows how to take care of himself. Tom's grandma has a fruit basket scene made up of seashells. Spent the night in the van in front of the Battlepad. Dreamt of destitude badlands of mahogany and navy blue, the land drying out before my eyes. So far, this trip is anything but dry. The news shows giant whorls of twirling white across the whole state, tracking our itinerary perfectly. Storm is raging. Will the tempest continue to build? Could this be the final Biblical judgement time?

Monday, February 4, 2008

battleblitz epologue or FAIRWELL INKY BEAK-WEILDER


Quite a stretch with no blog action, but the close of the tour was packed with activity and lite on wireless internet connection, so here I am writing from the comfort of my bed in the beautiful city of San Fran.... the tour is finished. we made it back alive...

we last left off on a beautiful sunny monday in LA.

me and the boys jumped in the spongevan and jetted over to santa monica. we grabbed our gear and sashayed over to the 3rd street promenade. found a little spot where we could post up our gear. as we set up, i notice out of the corner of my eye a mysterious, dark figure with crazy black hair and crazy lookin' eyes. very quickly i realize that i'm watching cedric bixler from the battlehooch-beloved MARS (mother fucking!) VOLTA! after being a dork and staring for a good 20 seconds, i get my wits about me and hand the good man a copy of OOF OWF, which he generously took. we told him we loved his music and thanked him for his kindness. WOO HOO! hellz yeah! then we played 3 songs before we got hasseled by the man (thankfully we didn't get a ticket). as well as meeting cedric, we also met the original lead singer of motley crue (pre- vince neil) and also we made our youngest battlefan yet. his name is nate, he's the man, look for him in upcoming vlogs.

after getting kicked out of santa monica, we headed over to venice beach to see if we'd have some luck there. we walked up and down the beach, with all our equipment, trying to find a good place to post up but we had trouble. after causing much grief to a beach side palm reader and a seemingly never ending barrage of hobo -harmonica players joining our band mid song, we decided to bail out from venice beach. after all, who is walking along venice beach at 3:30 in the afternoon other than drug addicts and weirdos. not to discriminate against such folks, but we needed gas money. dig?

anywho, we headed back to max's and cooked a mean stew. then we loaded up the van and headed over to echo park for our first ever offical show in LA at pehrespace. the show was put on by sean carnage and it was a great scene. kids chilling, laughing, drinking, smoking, talking. we had a very strong turn out this night with lots of friends from far and wide, from various stages of our collective past turning up to say what up to the hooch. we saw a bunch of great bands this night including Brother from Sacramento, Destroy Tokyo from the East Bay and Kuato which featured our good friend Oliva's (of WiretapMusic/Radio Vago/Lovely Public fame) brother playing bass and singing.

We were the 5th of 6 bands, and played a set that was under 20 minutes long. the sound in the place was a little rough, but the show still went pretty decent. it ended with grant dumping half a bottle of gaurnier fructis on ryan's head. the place smelled awesome for the whole rest of the set.

you can see more pictures on line at

afterwards, i had the good fortune of meeting jim from the fantastic group, Captain Ahab. we had a great talk and he gave me lots of good advice about playing shows/touring and he was good enough to accept a copy of OOF OWF. I also met members from the awesome group ANAVAN, who we are currently trying to set up a show in SF with.

great people all of them, real nice and genuine.

we went back home and crashed out at a late hour, after some rock band action (any time we're not playing music during our time in LA, we're playing rock band, or rather at least one of us is playing rock band).

now it's tuesday. we played two shows including one at kxlu on the loyola marymount campus. this show was kinda nuts cause we had to carry our gear REALLY FAR! and i mean, REALLY FAR. down a court yard, round the corner through another court yard, down some hallways, up an elevator, then down another hall way.... you get the picture. it was pretty rough. and then we played on the air without a soundcheck and with crappy feed from the vocals. what came out over the air sounded way different than what was in the room. sigh. oh well.

for dinner we dined at the fabulous Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. a fine meal indeed. HOWEVER, the fates had conspired against us and our eating experience was soured when we discovered that some people were trying tow egg's car. much bally-hoo was raised and lets just say, $125 was exchanged and many tempers boiled over...

that nights show was at a place called hyperion tavern in silver lake. the night was called club ding a ling and it was put on by a dude who used to be the drummer in the GERMS.

Here he is in all his glory. ----------------------->
(he was seen at one point, pounding two 40s at once in the parking lot)

Now the thing about club ding a ling, at least on this particular night, is that all the bands we were playing with were, shall i say, doomy goth karaoke. all the acts basically were people plugging in a laptop/ipod/whatever... and barking out evil, devilish vocals augmented by effects. some of it was pretty groovy, but all in all the scene was just an incredible PIECECHOW REGALIA CONVENTION. hairpieces, hats, frocks and smocks that you all just had to see to believe. the whole thing was organized like shit, and the first two bands took ridiculously long to set up their gear, then played really short sets. we went on 3rd, after having to argue with some dude who wanted to take our slot. this place definitely had the weirdest stage we played on all tour. the stage, was wide enough to have 3 people across, no problem, however, it was only about 2 feet deep, which meant it was impossible to get all of us on the stage at once. also, keep in mind that the stage is like 4 - 5 feet off the ground. so we had it with me grant and ben on the stage, and ryan tombo and pat down below us. there was a video projection of the most crazy random fucked up shit ever flashing right in my face the whole time, thought i was gonna swallow my tounge or something.

all in all though, one of the best shows of the tour. the room was packed when we played, we played a really solid 4 song set, sold some cds, made some friends, made the heckling goths shut their traps. maybe it was the rage from the towing incident being turned into positive kinetic energy? we headed home feelin' good. except we got lost on the way home.

wednesday, we slept in a bit, then hit the road for Dr. Spankk's house in Brea where we were treated to a delicious home cooked meal. we played a little piano, sang some leonard cohen, then set off for costa mesa. the show was at this SUPER posh italian restaurant that was underground, called La Cave. word on the street is the Sinatra played there back in '67. no bull.
we were playing with a fine fine band called Dolphin City. we played first, and had a great ol' time. great sounding place and crowd was nice. while packing up my equipment, the PA system toppled over and a big ol' speaker fell right on my noggin. felt a bit dizzy for a while, but i didn't have a concussion and i didn't die when i fell asleep. woo hoo! dolphin city was really great, good players for sure. and they were way nice to hang out with, they even set us off with a box of free fruit. it was delightful. then we piled in the van a little after midnight and hit the road for encinitas where we would stay with our good friend ryan davenport.

we, arrived late at night, 10 people deep and apparently didn't go over to well with his sick housemate. bummer.

thursday was a strange day, it was like a vortex where nothing got done. in 8 hours we eat mexican food and looked for a radioshack. we took eggs out to dinner cause it was her birthday and we got some grubbin pizza and calimari aka squid aka THE INKY BEAK-WEILDER. the show that night was at a place called Chasers. we were supposed to play at a joint called Scolari's office which we had heard was one of the main spots for touring bands and local bands in San Diego. however, a couple weeks before the tour, Scolari's got bought by "yuppies" and the old booker started doign shows at chasers instead. Chasers was a way cool place, but it was off the beaten path kinda and hadn't developed a name for it, so the crowd wasn't as big as we had hoped but we definitely met some great people, some of whom came out to multiple San Diego shows we played at. very cool people. thanks a bunch. we met up with maria, who helped us organize the show, and who played in a band called "a history of premature burial" (who kicked serious ass) which is a side project of her main band, the vaginals. she was way awesome and was good enough to put the crew up at her house for the night. very kind indeed.

Friday! friday was the probably the gnarliest day of the tour but also, probably the best. we woke at 9... which is insane considering that the whole tour we'd been going to bed at like 3 or 4 and waking up at noon consistently. we grabbed breakfast and all of us were feeling, looking and smelling really haggard. we'd been on the road for well over a week, hadn't been sleeping much, eating well, or showering. perfect time to head over to San Dieguito Academy to play during lunch for all the fine high schoolers. we strolled in and set up in front of the gym, and by the time the lunch bell rang we were ready to go. this show was definitely the most fun of the whole tour. compared to the clubs and things we normally play, the level of enthusiasm and appreciation that the fine folks at San Dieguito displayed was overwhelming. when we finished playing we sold 22 copies of OOF OWF and made a bunch of friends. holy shit did these kids have good taste in music. Kraut rock, Beirut, Deerhoof, WTF?!? we showed some of the kids how to play theramin and gave out the rest of our battlerags that we made for the tour. before the show we all felt haggard. afterwards we felt like kings. but we didn't have time to dilly dally. it was off to KSDT at UC San Diego for a set on NoWaveNoDiego. this radioset ran much smoother and the sound was much better cause we took care of our own vocal levels and we just used a single large diaphram condensor mic to record the set, which sounded much better.
we're planning on putting highlights from that set up on our page soon. so stay tuned for that.
then we jetted to the house where we were gonna play at that night. the show had been organized by a group on myspace called san diego house parties and they were good enough to book us for the evening, which as luck would have it, was taking place at a house where our good friend John Paul (from wonderful San Diego band Grand Ole Party) lived. we made a fine meal for ourselves, and then the party began. it was quite a groovy scene. there was some cool hip hop acts that started the show off and the GOP themselves made a suprise appearance and played 5 brand new songs, all of which sounded killer. they got a really lean sound and it was great seeing them in an intimate setting.

speaking of the setting, imagine this if you a will. a true basement. a ceiling that is probably 6'3" and that's being generous. insolation and wires and beams hanging from the ceiling.
this is the spot where we played. the set went pretty good, we went on at 1 am, it included the first ever mosh pit at a battlehooch show (during deep knee bends). afterwards, DJ Kipper kicked in and rocked a dance party that went to the wee hours. we were crashing at the house that night, so we had to wait until the party was over before we could settle down for the evening. it was well past 5am when i went to bed.

we got up around noon-ish, load up the van and meet up one more time with Davenport for a fine lunch. then it's off to bakersfield for the final show of the tour. it takes about 4 hours to get to bakersfield and we get their around dusk. we were really excited about this show the whole tour cause we were playing with HEALTH who are truly awesome. we got there really early so we got a free meal compliments of the joint, Narducci's cafe. talked a bit with jon from health and he gave us some really solid advice about touring, playing shows in LA, etc. we played second and we all pretty much agree that it was the worst show of the tour. both grant and i had our effects crap out on us. my amp fell over cause the stage wobbled when i jumped (apparently some of the supports had been taken out). the PA system was just FUCKED UP. like WAY FUCKED UP. eggs said that the the sound was fluctuating in a really weird way. i had to rethink almost all my guitar parts on the fly cause i had no effects, which led to a lot of crappy playing. i personally felt the fatigue of touring and having to constantly try and bring the A game the most at this show. a shame really, but c'est la vie. the night was getting on and it was clear that HEALTH was anxious to play before it got to be too late. the 3rd band started, a really bullshit gutterpunk band, (they had the most hilarious song titles ever, grant nabbed the setlist, you really got to see it to believe it) but some drunk morons came in and started harassing the drummer, who then went and slugged one of the dude's in the face. a big bru ha ha errupted and much yelling and arguing took place. the drunk moron's drunk moron girlfriend thought it was our band that punched her man and tried to attack the battle van at one point! the end result was that the bartender pulled the plug on the WHOLE FUCKING SHOW. health weren't allowed to play. they played maybe 2 songs and then that was it. SUCH BULLSHIT!

pretty shitty way to end the tour, but once again, c'est la vie. we left bakersfield shortly after midnight and drove 6 hours home to San Francisco.

so, yeah, that's pretty much the story. it was good fun. we met great people. played some really awesome shows. saw some really awesome bands. laughed a bunch. played rock band a bunch. met one of our heroes. saw some old friends. sang songs ( I LIKE THE BARTENDER....). but i think above all learned a lot of lessons and really saw what it was like to be a real band. when all was said and done we came back with a profit of $500 after gas expenses. and most amazing of all, the battlevan made it the whole way without any hassel. the van that didn't even run when we bought it, trucked us almost 2000 miles in a week a half without giving us any hell. i think this is the begining of a beautiful friendship.

we're already planning the next tour and maybe even a couple mini tours. eggs and peter joined the tour in LA and eggs shot a bunch of great video, which we'll compile into a couple more vlogs to round out the tour story.

OOF OWF in California '08

-Archeology Johnson