Patriots of the Mark,
This gem was taken in Dunsmuir California, up past Mount Shasta somewhere on the way to Portland. We played at a bar in Sacramento, and drove about 3 hours north to camp on a Thursday night. We were able to close our eyes for approximately 2.5 hours before Jimmy Southbound's ringing phone woke me up at 6AM Friday and I kicked the C-Team into action. We ate a sweet breakfast here in Dunsmuir, cursing and sniping at each other (but polite, always polite America) across our eggs. We did garner some stares. The waitress, for her part, was able to deduce that we were in a band, and once our cover was blown--we headed out.Apparently, Dunsmuir (the town) is a pioneer in the civically-minded technique of "Organized Stalking." It's their way to get undesirables to leave town, most notably vagrants, sex-offenders, and scruffy-looking city-kids with gleams of hope in their eyes. They employ a nonviolent (aka "softball") form of harassment to methodically purge their peaceful hamlet (population: ~2000) so as to keep their streets clean and their children pure. Seriously, this is taken directly from the Wikipedia article on Dunsmuir. I'm sure if we had stuck around a little longer we could have gotten some better sense of these techniques, but alas the gods of Rock urged us northward!
We pulled into Marty's house in Portland that Friday afternoon and staked our claim to his land.
Marty is an awesome guy who I'm sure will someday have a big, beat-up, blue van, but fuck that! We managed to get one first!
That's right! In case you did not know--we bought a van!
Hooray for us!!!
It didn't end there, friends...no it did not! But I grow weary of typing.
Apoplecticly yours,
rob-otic hand is playing oboe like a champ!
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