Two days off – I spent it recording the new YOUTH RIOT record. Travis fit upwards of 20 "fuck"s in a one minute song. Speaking of the F word, my roommates informed me that they’re having a baby.

Anytime you hear someone yell FREEZE! you have to assume the DRI Guy position.

Meet up with E150 from Spain and KILL THE MAN WHO QUESTIONS and play a couple shows with them, including a show in Mexico.

Just for the record, not everywhere in Mexico is fish-eyed.

In the middle of the desert an important hose running under the van blew. A thermometer in the last town before the hose-blowing read 117°. The only structure around was an abandoned weigh station so we took refuge there and everybody but Kim Bae and Robert stripped down to their underwear. Robert – consummate trooper that he is – was actually able to fix the problem using only a hose tie and his Gerber handi-tool. And he did the whole thing while wearing pants – the same pants he’s been wearing since Easter.

Played the last show of the tour in LA and the next morning Robert and our van continued on with the E150/KTMWQ tour. Here's some pics E150 sent me from their time with Robert. I wanted to share these because Robert in shorts is funny, but Robert in a pool is even funnier:

Max and Dawn were going to spend the next two days on vacation leaving Devon and I to rent a car and drive home. It took most of the morning to get a car secured and unfortunately we had to use Max’s credit card because Devon and I’s were tied to our ATM accounts which for some reason is unacceptable. Max was understandably upset to have wasted 25% of he and Dawn’s vacation trying to get Devon and I home but unless we paid $250 more he was our only option. He drove us to the rental car place and left us with all the remaining equipment and boxes of merch.

I filled out all the paperwork and just as I was being handed the keys I was asked to show my drivers license. I did but since it did not match the name on the credit card (Max Ward) he was unable to rent us a car. So now we were stuck at a rental car place in LA with a bunch of luggage and equipment and no way home. And we had wasted all of Max’s time for nothing. Eventually we were able to get a commuter van to take us to the Dollar Rental place where for only twice the price we could pay cash, so long as we had the car to the SFO airport by midnight. It was 2 in the afternoon by now so assuming they could get us a car in an hour there’d be no problem. The problem was they had no cars to rent us.

Devon and I sat and waited and wondered why almost every tour we go on ends with great difficulty. Twice we came home on the same day as a major earthquake. One time a sniper was perched on Devon’s roof as we were dropping him off. Another time our band got in a yelling match in an airport quarantine that left the band in limbo for two months. And so on and so on…

Our name was eventually called and the clerk told us they had a car for us. It wasn’t the economy car we requested but they said it’d be no extra charge. And that’s how Devon and I found ourselves driving home in a brand-new cherry-red Jeep ragtop. The ride was fun and I learned that when four-wheeling in loose dirt with expensive equipment in the car it is best to have the windows and ragtop sealed tight.

I dropped Devon off at his house in SF around 11pm with plenty of time to return the Jeep. The plan was to catch a bus at the airport that would take me to the BART station where I would catch BART home and walk the remaining four miles to my house. I was looking forward to the alone-time but when I found out the bus I needed at the airport didn’t run so late on a Sunday night my plan was shot. And I was fucked.

By 1am I was able to catch a bus that dropped me off south of Market, not the best neighborhood. It was the same neighborhood where someone recently attempted to steal my roommate’s car stereo – while my roommate was still in the car.

I could only remember Devon’s phone number but the pay phone ate up my only change. The only place open was a diner so I tried to get change from them. They wouldn’t change my money unless I bought something, but if I bought something I wouldn’t have enough money to take BART home the next morning. So I walked the 35 blocks to Devon’s through some shitty-ass neighborhoods. When I got there I rang the doorbell with impunity. After a few minutes he came to the door but, seeing a guy with his hood up ringing his doorbell at 2:30am he just yelled at me to "leave [him] the fuck alone."

"Wait, wait, Devon – It’s me – Craig!!!"

He let me in and gave me a bed and even made me breakfast before I left for BART the next morning. I was home by 2pm and ready for another tour.


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