PNW 2012: Deconstructed


Oh, we try to be good.

To live on the dark side of fifty, we now put on the reading glasses when haunting the grocery aisle.
Sodium count is noted and discretely added to the end count abacus that constantly clicks in our heads.
Cans of luxurious fatty corned beef, just the thing for that hungover breakfast on Sunday, are inspected and regretfully placed back on the shelf.

Maybe those rice cakes will be okay, and, whoa! dipped in plain yogurt if we’re feeling crazy, huh?

But it’s a different story out on the weekend road, brother, when we briefly escape the earthly bounds of mortality and sensible footwear.
For a glorious 3 or 4 days it is perfectly fine to hydrate with Mountain Dew and oil cans of warm PBR, and that late night cheese covered snack, calorie count fifteen times the local speed limit, is not only logical but necessary.

Olympia: Tot-chos! Oh, yes we did….

Goopy bar snacks, gas station sausages, strip club breakfasts, tamales sold out of plastic hefty bags by the one eyed midget in Portland: all fair game.
We order not only the Tonkatsu ramen at Biwa, more than enough for any man, but also every skewer of gizzard and organ that can fit on the glowing robata grill.

..the right atrium were a tad chewy, but the left ventricle divine!
Gay bar hot dog. Too easy.
Oh right, Canada. Poutine please.
Pepper jack burger, Jake’s, Olympia

We start each day in the same way, different motel bathrooms.
Vitamin C, Sam-E, Prilosec, Lipitor, Immodium.
These are the backstage drugs now.

We line the pills up like vintage Soviet tanks awaiting their turn in a North Korean military parade.
And when they are finally waved through, after their presentation before the tiny uvula dictator, we are ready to start another day, with all its glorious nutrition, anew.


We show up at the club and drop the guest list, its size depending on how badly we burned bridges last time through.
Some towns, we know enough people for a good sized Tupperware party.
Others, not so much.

Those nights, we scan the crowd for the one dude with the homemade CH3 T shirt, ply him with drinks and get him to sit behind the merch booth while we inspect the equipment we are borrowing tonight.

Slingin the platter, Vancouver.
El Corazon, Seattle

For we travel light, only guitars in hand, and have to rely on the kindness of the local bands for backline.
We will say this: The quality of the gear, amps and drums, is unquestionably better these days.
Gone are the days of plugging straight into the board or the homemade toaster head sitting atop a plywood 3 x 12 cabinet.

Oh, those nights of dodgy input jacks and tricky amps, that have to be turned on just so……
No, the stuff is pretty good, and most nights better than the poor abused boxes that wait for us back home.

Ron Reyes and Piggy!

But our lips still hold the subtle callous of the constantly electrocuted.
Ah. those sweet nights of being kissed with visible blue spark, our human heads completing the circuit between guitar string, microphone and faulty ground.

And if only our loved ones can detect the slight scar of lower lip, and feel the still buzzing electricity that has altered our internal pulse by just a click, they mercifully accept us, and put a gentle fingertip up to the wound, as if to soothe us and say shhhh.


Last call, Victory Lounge, Seattle
Biwa, Portland

They say we have no change of Seasons in Southern California….pffft.

What do you call that subtle change in late September, when the germinated Queen Palms along Ocean Boulevard suddenly sprout with snowy seed?
Or hoho, when the temperature dips below 75 that first time of the year, and sends us scurrying for the Winter wardrobe of closed toed shoes and sturdy Pendleton?

Or what about….ah fuck it, yer right.
I got nothing here.

Fall colors of Washington

It’s the same familiar unfamiliarity, when we hit the tarmac and and that first blast of cool Fall air hits us.
Oh, so this is what it feels like, weather.

We fall to knee right there on the moving walkway and pull out thermals and drinking sweaters, giggling at the goosebumps upon our tan forearms.
We arrive at the car rental counter bundled and fuzzy warm as preschoolers ready to assemble the first snowman of the year.

Vancouver BC

It is the grand treat to come back to these places, and we measure ourselves against the glowing memories of the last time through.
In the cramped rental car, with head lodged between anvil case and box of merch, it is more than enough to just gaze out the window at the world going by.

In these quiet times you take a quick survey of the day, how the voice is holding up with a discete hmmmm, and how many miles it is til the next city appears on the horizon.
You look out and see a sudden, outrageous burst of color above tree trunk, a fiery final protest of life before the bleak Winter to come.


Halloween party, Iron Road Studios Vancouver

It’s that same sensation, every night.
You pull open the door to the club, and are met with that first exhalation of smoke and sweat, the sound of people drinking, maybe clank and tang of a kitchen being closed up for the night.
You try to detect in a sniff which way the night will go, before taking a peek inside to see the headcount and making the quick calculations if the promoter will be jolly or tearfull at night’s end.

A dozen eyes glow out from the darkness, canine and hungry, and you can just make out the comic caption clouds floating above the twinned fireflies:
The band is here.
Alright fuckers, show us what ya got!

We see dear and familiar faces from other adventures, re connect with heroes from our past:
And without fail, we end up with new friends by night’s end.

Interview with Andy:

Seattle, we meet up with Andy Nystrom for a quick interview post-set. He does an admirable job getting his story, as we’re all obsessed with last call and missing guitar cords.

Ant stocking up on duty free snacks!

Maybe you remember a Sunday afternoon when you were pulled out of treehouse and made to put on shoes, only to be swept into the station wagon, soon lulled into a carbon monoxide slumber on some interminable cross town jaunt.

Then you reached your destination, and your parents only set you loose in a different backyard, sometimes kid free, other times jealously guarded over by your snot nosed doppelganger.
And when you cupped your tiny paws around your eyes to peer through the screen door, you could see your parents in there, with another couple or maybe two: Dad with legs crossed in a jaunty way, conducting some ribald tale with his miniature cigarette baton.
There is a peal of laughter and then Mom punches Pop in the arm, good natured, her eyes shiny with laughter and love.

For God sake, they’re just in there…..talking!

Visiting, is what they’d call it….. old people.

And then you’d roll your eyes to the heavens and slap your thighs once again as you turned back to the yard in search of a toy to break or insect to torture.
They’re just in there talking!

And besides those brief minutes, when we strap on the guitars and roam around the stage, that’s all we’re really doing: visiting.

The CH3 Test Kitchen: Top Ramen

Test Subject:

Nissin Top Ramen, Oriental Flavor

What was that?
Did I just detect a roll of the eyes, a weary sigh?

Oh I know, I know–you shudder at those salty memories of your dorm days, when you would huddle in a dark corner and eat cold Top Ramen out of your Mickey Mouse bowl–all the while sending weepy texts to your slut of a girlfriend back home–
Man up, ya fuckin Emo!

Nah man—for today’s recipe, we’re gonna take a clue from the fellas up in County, where the traditional Spread illustrates how we can make this pantry staple into something glorious!

Now here's a million dollar idea for yer new theme restaurant!

Heh. Well, let’s not go that far.
I assume we all have a pot of water and a lethal heat source, so we’ll leave the cans of tuna and cooking in Hefty garbage bags to Lil Joker and Pelón.

Besides, you can find a slimy bowl of goddamned Udon all over town, and ya can’t stumble out of a club at closing time without falling into another 24 hour Pho joint, true.
But a decent Ramen?
Good luck brother.

All the rare, good joints are packed with somber Japanese corporate ex-pats, who are none too happy about being housed at the Costa Mesa Ramada the past 15 months.
These poor people are clearly in no mood to put up with sloppy punkers invading their last refuge, so let’s leave Mentatsu to them, aiight?

Leave us alone, roundeye hipster foodie!

Top Ramen (1 pkg)
Green Onions (4 stalks)
Huy Fong Chili Garlic (4 Tbsp)
Spam (1/2 Tin)
Ichimi Togarashi (2 Tsp)
White Cadillac Slippers (2)
Soft Boiled Egg (1)

Have these handy at all times!

What’s that ya say?
You don’t have these ingredients handy?

Duh–that’s what those shitty Korean sushi joints are there for!
Go in and order a California Roll and a Diet Coke, and when they go to fetch that awful junk ya simply load up your pockets with all the condiments on the table.
Oh, don’t worry, they expect that behavior from ya— that’s why they use imitation imitation crab meat!

Alrighty, let’s put some water to boil.
Famously, those little flavor packets contain the sodium equivalent of a square foot of the Bonneville salt flats, so I suggest doubling the specified quantity of water:

….or, just roll with what’s on hand–ya got me?


While that’s bubbling away, let’s turn our attention to the protein, eh?

Yes, we’re using Spam, ya got a problem with that your highness?

And besides, we all know it’s fuckin 3:30 am after a night pounding Jager at Alex’s that you’re attempting to cook this, so doubtful yer gonna find a fresh Tonkatsu filet lying about, am I right?

In fact, the salty gamy flavor of this…er, meat…blends perfectly with this dish.
It’s well known that this handy canned meat product tastes uncannily of human flesh, thus its unparalleled popularity along the islands of Pacifc Oceania, their citizens the last to reluctantly abandon cannibalism.

How do you think those fuckin huge bouncers at Alpine Village got that way, huh?!

....hey bruddah---you got a hand stamp, huh?!

If Spam is not available, the following meat products may be substituted in a pinch:
Slim Jims.
Pork Rinds.
Char Siu Pork.
Beef Jerky.
Google Images of Spam on Android Tablet.

…and hey hey! since when do they put hidden prizes in the cans? Nifty!

If you find the golden Agent Orange button ya get to visit the factory!

While the noodles seep in the broth, slice off 4 generous slices of the meat.
Feed one to the dog. Now will you-please- stop following me around the kitchen? Huh?!

Ah jeez, now she's got the taste for flesh!

Now julianne the slices into pinky-finger sized spears—
quit looking at your pinky finger! Pay attention!
and sear off with stalks of green onion.


Spam and scallion stalks in first, pour ramen and broth over and let sit five minutes.

Top with sliced egg and chopped green onion.

Serving Suggestion:

Presentation is everything, people.
Yeah, yeah, I know yer crocked and stumbling around in your boxers at the moment, but have a little respect and eat this right, ok?

See, yer first mistake is, you try to eat this wonderful dish out of yer chipped, standard size soup bowl or-Good Lord!-right out of the pan!
Yeah, we see ya, ya uncouth bastard!

Nah man–you need a proper ceramic noodle bowl, not plastic, not metal, and big—Big!

To give you an idea, here I’ve parked my R75/6 next to the bowl we’re using:

And we’ll be using the correct utensils, kids.
One proper Wonton sized spoon, one wooden pair of chopsticks. of the trade...

And would it kill ya, huh? if you quit calling them Choptsticks? Alright?
These are hashi (箸), got it?
Doesn’t that sound better or at least slightly less racist, hmmm?
–And stop rubbing them together, you trying to make a fuckin fire or something?

Did I just see you using one for a spear?!
Would you quit leaving them in the bowl crossed up!
How were you people raised?!

Know what? Maybe you should stick to a plastic fork.....

Do not -Repeat: Do Not attempt to eat this in bed.
You will pass out, be scalded, and then constantly make us check out your stupid Sailor Jerry breast piece you had done to cover up the scars.

No, we have to eat this on the couch while watching TV to fully appreciate the complex flavors.
Watch anything playing on IFC, preferably a showing of Bad Lieutenant–the real one!

....been there, brother!

Serve piping hot on a clean Tshirt, which serves as both a potholder for this molten bowl of goodness and also a a handy napkin:

Call us old fashioned, be we use the traditional Darkness T, although I’ve heard a Frampton concert Tee or a Black Flag No Values shirt work equally well …..I know, kooky, right?

Now, was that not worth it?

Now don’t ya feel better about yourself?
You resisted the siren call of Taco Bell and Tommy’s, you came home and made a fine hot meal all by your lonesome!
I’m so proud of you guys!

Ah jeez—you took it up to bed, didn’t you?

I wondered why the dog was getting so chubby!

Our Last Gig: Pouzzafest, Montreal


Ah, Poutine!
Sure–you of know it, am I right?

God’s gift to man, a recipe received via shafts of lights and burning shubbery ages ago, a mystical sacrament sent from on high:
Translated as only those nutty Canadiens could do, brother!—this manna consists of glorious frites suffocated under an earthy brown gravy.
And I ask you, do our chilly neighbors up yonder stop there?

Fuck no….hey, I know–let’s cover the whole thing in Cheese Curds now!!!!

And that’s just the base model, friend.
If you know us at all here at the CH3 gourmand field team, you know we’re gonna go for all the swanky options:
‘la saucisse, as shown, but let’s not forget the other toppings, yeh?

Foie Gras? Bacon Bits?
Shaved Copper?

The tears of a heartbroken street clown?
Bring it on!

Oh yes……the tale begins and ends with Poutine, but when invited many months ago, we wondered just as you do now:
What the hell is a Pouzzafest anyways!?

For that matter, just what is Pouzza, and why does it deserve its own fest, hmmm?

Oh, why try to explain when this nifty educational video is available!!

MmmmmmOkay then.

I think you can see why we readily accepted their gracious invitaion and reported for duty!

A leisurely schedule, we report late morning to the Gardener garage & lounge to begin this sordid journey…….

11 o'clock, 4 o'loko

God bless our hosts, they actually send First Class tickets to Montreal!
And while the in-flight chow consists of neither curd nor gravy, it is passable when paired with endless table wines!!

...airborne en-rout to Montreal. After seven double scotch rocks, Ant attempts to read the paper upside down. Onwards

With the time change and a brief, weepy breakdown at the airport when told of Macho Man’s demise, it is well late when we hit the curbside.

...I'm comin' to join you, Elizabeth!

..the limo arrives!

Arriving to the Residences Universitaires UQAM upon our thrones of Pabst, we are giddy as Freshmen arriving for Fall semester!

Everything a dorm room needs except a bong and a Arcade Fire poster.....
That's All Folks!

Onto the town and the usual hilarity ensues.
Last Call at Foufounes Electriques, where we gaze upon their fine collection of Catholic Molestation art!

Altar Boy memories come flooding back. Good Times......

But now it’s finally time to dig into that first Poutine of the trip, where they blanche cut potatoes in shady looking trashcans:

Poutine w/ Smoked Meats...

Back to the dorm rooms and we collapse into schoolboy beds.

Our nocturnal wanderings done, our starch and gravy appetites sated, we fall into deep sleep and dream of Canadian mountians:
Their very Earth’s crust fried to a golden crisp, their dizzying peaks capped with brown, delicious snow!



Up on a glorious Saturday, a brisk walk down St Urbain toward Vieux-Port de Montréal .
A quick, plain snack fends off our hunger of the inevitable meal to come!

...and not a trace of booze on the table, alright already?

While chewing thoughtfully on buttery croissant, I spy the NotreDame Basillica over Ant’s shoulders……shall we?

Unfortunately, they are serving only cheap well whiskies in the Vaulted Cathedral, and we are quickly shown the door…….

Note to Editor: No Caption Necessary

But no time to ponder, it is time for the next Poutine of the trip, this time on the charming patio of wittily named Montreal Poutine!

Poutine heaven, qui?
Poutine #3, but who's counting?!

The day is fine, and we tread the cobblestones lightly, like all the rest of the fat and 6%-beer-buzzed tourists.

...when you could sit there all fuckin day.....

But wait a minnit, don’t we have a job to do?
Oh yeah……we gotta gig goddamnit, and soundcheck in 10!

The Katacombes, our office for the night!
hmph.....evidence of scoliosis even in the mesolithic period? Preposterous!

And while running through a few peppy numbers in the very cool and Skull-a-licious empty club, who should we spy but Carlos Soria of the famed Nils?!

We feel like we’ve known him forever, the nut…and perhaps we have!
We spend the rest of the evening talking of shared friends and memories before returning to the dorms for beauty naps and nips off the Jameson that promoter JP has graciously left at the desk!!

What? Oh, screw you, like your dorm fridge didn't look like this in college!

Freshened by the rest and the incredible 3 hours! since our last potatoe-and-gravy snack, we bounce through the night, the set, and after hour hijinks with aplomb!

Mush! Puttin Soria to work....

JP keeps em coming!

Unruled ruling!

What? Photos of us actually playing?

Well, no.

But we did play, honest!
Wait, hold on…..

There, ya happy?! Thank God somebody actually got a photo!

What? And was there another poutine involved?

Well, hmmm. I guess so?

To tell the truth, at this point, things get vague.
Our time has stretched along with the very curvature of this Northern Hemishphere, and the night is a dizzying mix of fried potatoes, Irish Whiskey, cheese curds and skulls, all topped with a delicious brown ooze.

Am I in heaven?



We sadly pack our meager things into laundry hampers and hug our floor advisors farewell.
We’re gonna miss going to this school, goddamnitl!!

Au Revoir!

Heh….perhaps one last stop at FouFones for the festival sponsored BBQ, yes?

Jolly Grillmasters!

A quick interview in front of dismembered head....what?

...but, those hot dogs. There doesn't seem to be any brown gravy clothing on em!

Sitting there, amongst the floating skulls and sacrilegious artwork, enjoying the sunshine and smoky dogs, we find ourselves grining, to a man.

We’ve been to a few fests, sure.
Maybe we’re more suited to these things, hell, I don’t know.

But this has been a rare blast, maybe because it’s new, maybe because it’s all new to us.
To be here among pals and savor an absolutely gorgeous city on a Spring weekend, it all makes sense.

It’s then that we finally corner Hugo and JP, and they finally tell us what a Pouzza is:

The man who combined two worlds!

Ya take the Poutine gravy.
You pour it on ……


Foreheads are slapped.
Cartoon lightbulbs, they literally flicker on above our spinning heads.

And just like that, they whisk us into airport vans as we clutch onto wrought iron railings, reluctant to leave.

But…but…we never got to try that….
Dear God, why have you waited to tell us!?

Perhaps next time, oui?

Like this at Facebook!

Our Last Gig: The Empty Room

One more time, we dye out the gray and trim the nose hairs, and steel ourselves for another goddamn year in the trenches.

A good 18 pounds overweight from the Holiday parties and Turducken leftovers, we slowly get back into fighting shape for 2011 with a quick jaunt North to start things off.

It’s a new destination this time, Central CA, with a Friday stop in Santa Maria, a quick jaunt up to Atascadero Sat and home in time for the Superbowl Sunday.

Or should we say, home for half time, just in time to see the fuckin’ Black Eyed Peas do their aerobics routine and poor ol Slash destroy every last molecue of rocker credliblity he had left!

Ummm, ok. And you say Axl is the one that's out of touch?

The weekend starts off in the usual way: late start on Friday, squeezing through the horrendous traffic of Friday-Lite L.A., then finally breaching the burnt hills of Calabasas to get that glorious view of the Pacific heading North.

A quick stop off in Ventura for a piss and gas, late lunch at Dargan’s Pub, and a quick Pabst at San Souci.

Looking South over the grilled eggplant sandwich mountains...

We press on to the greater Santa Maria area, home of that dry rub BBQ and meth lab explosions.
We check in at O’Sullivan’s Pub and then adjourn to BBQ Land, to sample the local delicacies.

I mean, c’mon! It’s called BBQ Land, people!

A quick and fun bar set with the good folks at O’Sullivans, and then we bunker in owner Josh’s back office for shots of whiskey and reminiscences of Clash concerts past.
Josh, gracious bastard that he is, allows us to leave with the bottle in hand.
Class Act!

Alf with our new mascot

...and these are the import restrooms too, not the later CBS release!

Trading Strummer stories in the back office of O'Sullivans.

Late night, and luckily there is a Jack in the Box open just across from the Santa Maria Inn, and a leisurely taco and cocktail session in Alf’s room brings the night to a close.

Yes, you heard us. That's 32 mystery meat tacos and one diet Pepsi. Four straws!

The BBQ, the fast food shit tacos, the Irish Whiskey and cheap beer: I have a strange dream that night.
Oh, you know the one, the one where a giant Pirate Hat chases you around a cheap soundstage as Charles Nelson Reily cackles his maniacal and somehow pedophilic laugh.

I wake up to find Kimm has left the TV on all night on the local PBS, which starts its Saturdays with a Sid and Marty Krofft Productions marathon.

Childhood bad acid trip revisited

I chew a cold leftover taco while reflecting on the wild improbability of a world ruled by hats or a giant lizard that talks with the white trash drawl of Andy Griffith.
Clearly, these people were on drugs. Good Ones.

C'mon yall--take a gander at these boots I stole off Lemmy!

We load in and continue grazing up the coast, as if we were cannibalistic bovines.
First stop at Jocko’s Steaks in Nipomo on the advice of the locals.

Despite the grammatical nightmare we encountered, we did, in fact, proceed to enter and monkey round!

Oh cartoon cow, we can't wait to eviscerate you and eat your flesh!

Anthony’s Steak sandwich is the star of this table, and at 12 bucks we proceed to order 8 more to go. Something to gnaw on in the car, keep the kids quiet, don’t ya know!

Well, yes, there are two pieces of bread on the plate, so we can safely call this a sandwich.

We make the mandatory stop at the Madonna Inn, solely for the privilege of pissing on a wall length waterfall.

Healthy stream of urine brought to you by 24 ounce cans of Pabst.

We emerge from the bathroom to find Ant has ordered champagne cocktails for us, and we drink the fruity drinks in the gaudy frills of the main dining room.

Bleh. All this fluff is giving me a headache...a fabulous headache!

Though we don’t quite start prancing about or sucking each other’s cocks, this place has definitely put us in touch with our feminine side.
It is time to get out of here.

Morro Bay, that charming rascal of the central coast, calls to us with its beautiful vistas and dive bars. We discover a giant land mass right off the beach, which Alf promptly names Morro Rock–clever boy!
We while away the afternoon at the Buoy Tavern, watching as the locals wager themselves into a frenzy for tomorrow’s game.

The Mayor of Morro Bay hovers dangerously close to our pitcher of Firestone, empty glass in hand!

The gig is at The Armory in Atascadero, an actual block of concrete on the National Guard Base.
We pull up with that old anticipation of a road gig, wondering what kind of crowd will be here, how long we’ll be signing autographs afterwards, those darn kids!

We first suspect something is off when we pull into the driveway and there’s, oh, 9 cars parked there.

Heh–right, this is an all ages gig, after all.
Lots of kids get dropped off by Mom, right?

But then we pull open the heavy gymnasium doors and take a look inside: we grow older, we really appreciate these floor level stages! No stairs!

I am not exaggerating when I say there are 20 people in a room that would comfortably hold 1200.
We wordlessly go back out to the car and crack a beer, pass around the bottle of Jame-0 that we have thankfully threw in a guitar case.

How can this be? I mean, we’re goddamn Icons, are we not?

We ponder the possible reasons for the small turnout:
The economy, man, that’s gotta be it!
Lucero is playing across the way in SLO, and that’s where the cool kids went to play.
It is Superbowl weekend after all, alright? Am I right?

And then, inevitably, we raise the question that’s been on all our minds from the start.

Can these kids up here have possibly heard how much we actually suck????

The view from behind the microphone. Still want to be in a traveling band kid?

Nah, gotta shake off those thoughts, the show will go on!
So I’ll tell you about playing to empty rooms kids, and ya better listen up to Uncle Mike, because I am considered somewhat the expert in this field!

Oh, we’ve been all over the place and played to the dreaded empty room ya see—a rainy Monday in Gary Indiana, where the crowd was so small we passed round a half pint of Jack–and it made 4 complete rounds of the room before it was empty!
Or that cinderblock beer bar in Lincoln Nebraska, where only the bartender and a lone blind bouncer suffered through our full concert set.

All bands have a story about playing to the empty room, though it’s usually kept quiet, don’t ya know.

But here’s the thing about playing to a sparse crowd–it’s often a great gig, and that’s not bullshit.
For one thing, though both you and the crowd seem to be embarrassed about being there, you have to soldier on.

They can’t very well leave til you played, and we can’t sneak out the back and head for Denny’s—- we’re all trapped!!

And so they come up to you several times in the evening to apologize for their lame scene. You shrug to the promoter at the door, who has started drinking heavily and calling his Dad for a quick loan to cover the guarantee.
On this night, you make friends.

And so we strap on the guitars and go out there, and when they cut off the intro music the room is suddenly, shockingly quiet.
Somewhere out there in the darkness, someone lets out a timid Whoo!, and the ice is broken: we laugh together.

There is no more separation of band and crowd in empty room, it’s just a bunch of people standing together to hear music, even the ones that are supposed to be playing it.
Between songs, I convince the handful of people to gather together for a picture, plead with them to make it look like they are packed together and having a good time!

Come on now, it looks like a good crowd from this shot, eh?!

We somehow play better, as everyone is focused, and the tiny crowd, well, god bless em, they start an honest to God circle pit:
3 guys and one brave girl, dancing in a tight circle in front of us, in the middle of an empty gym in the middle of this State.

By the end of the set we are laughing and joking back and forth, we’ve already memorized everyone’s names.
We end the set and there is no stage or backstage, we simply put down the guitars and start shaking hands.
We sell every last one of the shirts we brought along, cheap! and head back to the motel with smiles on our faces.

Another one for the books.

The ghosts of a Saturday night

Vegan Cooking with CH3

Alright already, we hear ya…..After our recent entry chronicling our ongoing search for the world’s largest Chicken Fried Steak:

Oh My...bring 3 more and 2 to go, please!

And our step by step instructional video on making this bacon-mug-filled-with-nacho-cheese backstage surprise:

We started to get a lot of concerned emails from our readers.
Apparently, a lot of you have become alarmed at this behavior. Something about precariously high cholesterol levels and the well being of any domesticated animals within a fork length of Anthony.

Roasted pork knuckle before meeting Mr. Anthony......
Roasted pork knuckle before meeting Mr. Anthony......

...and after!
...and after!

In fact, our pals over at Anarchy in the Garden started to protest outside our gigs, even going so far as to throw red paint on Alf’s winter mink!

Oh sure--it's Anarchy in the Garden...but Hector says it's a police state in the bedroom!! Hey0!

What–you don’t recall our recent recipe for making these cool Black Flag bars out of peanut butter toast? Huh?

It's not my imagination...I'm having an allergic reaction!!

Fine by us. We’re not like those snooty TV chefs that frown on vegetarian behavior. And yeah, yer right. We gotta start watching our health.
I mean, we gotta stay in shape now that we’re all pushing forty *cough*

So I’m thinking today we should tackle a simpe pasta sauce, made from fresh tomatoes, basil, shallot and green onion.
That’s it.

You’ll really taste the flavors of these fantastic gifts from the garden, and if you’ll follow these simple steps you’ll be amazed by the difference attention to detail makes in your cooking.

Feel the freshness---go on!

Let me say this. You cannot make anything worthwhile with store bought tomatoes. Mealy and tasteless, they are like the shriveled testicles of Jose Canseco.

No, you’ll have to venture to your neighborhood Farmer’s Market.
Hey, why not try the one on Sundays right there on Marina Drive in Long Beach?
Yeah—that’s the one. You always wondered what the hell all those hippies with the canvas bags were doing while you were heading to the round bar at Hof’s for your hangover Bloody Mary’s!
So let’s get that Bloody and go!

mmm...I smell patchouli and birkenstocks!

Now wan’t that better than goddamn Albertson’s, hmmm?
And a big plus—on the way home you get to stop at the outdoor bar at Crab Pot and get a delicious Sam Adams in a 32 oz Mug! Make it 2, we have a lot of hot kitchen comin our way……..

What? I suppose you cook sober, your majesty?!

Alright then. We’re home with a mellow buzz, fresh vegetables in hand and feeling good about Ma Nature. Reward yerself with a pull off the ol Jamesons bottle, yeah?

Hey—this vegetarian business ain’t half bad!! Maybe a lil hackysack later on today if the weather’s nice……

Now just gotta run over to Pavillions to get a touch of olive oil.
Be right back with ya, but in the meantime go ahead and watch this wicked J-video of a cat standing up.
Ha! He thinks he’s people!!!!!

Hey kids-quick change of plans, okay?

Would you look at these beautiful short ribs those suckers had at 1.90 a pound, discounted 20% with club card!!! I had to buy ‘em, don’t ya see?

Oh come on!!! Look at that delicious fat!

Oh, shut the fuck up, Commies. We’ll get to your goddamn goat food another time, kay? But today, let’s put the fire to some beef and get this place smelling good!!!!

Braised Short Ribs on Egg Noodles:

Season Ribs and brown on all sides in your trusty LeCreusset.

shhhh...the babies are giving up their souls!!

Remove and rest, soften your root veg.
I am feeling dizzy.

What, again with the goddamn vegetables?!

Let’s kick things up, as they say, and see what kind of seasoning we have in the ol cupboard, hmm?

...and you were expecting who in the cupboard? Manny Ramirez bobblehead?

Touch of worcestershire,deglaze with a solid red, bring the meat back to the party…..

Alright, everyone back in the pool!

And let’s bring in some more taste: Paprika, Cumin, crushed Pringles.
Before you ask: No, don't try this with a Pogues cd.

Things are bubbling now.
Time for a bay leaf….

…….and what the hell, a Circle Jerks guitar pick for a lil extra zing!

I just want some Skank---well, that and some earthy flavors, hmmmm?

Are you hot? Is it hot in here?

I’m hot.

Ya know what? Hmm? Out of the Veal stock and forgot to get any beef broth at the friggin store.

Oh well. Really, any brown liquid will do in a pinch, so let’s see what we have on hand…..

Be creative: Here I am trying to cut open a bottle of Chivas using the dull side of a knife.

On the plus side, they now have a Wii system set up in the waiting room of Los Alamitos Hospital Emergency room!

Ah, now it’s time to cover things up, set in the oven, and let the magic of slow cooking do the rest. You did preheat to 350, didn’t ya?

I know a lot of cooks like to leave their pizza stones in the oven, to help dissipate cold spots and all that.

Me? I go with the BYO box set…..

Heh...that'll teach ya for leaving us out of your goddamn movie!

And now? Nothing to do but wait for the payoff.

Nice evening still, so might as well go fo a lil stroll down Main St, shall we?

Uh Oh....I know where this is headin....

Later that evening:
Ah geez...and the fuckin OC Register, for God Sake! all our Repubilcan friends are gonna know!

I’ll tell you what the bad part is. It’s not just that you stayed out all night, and woke up on a greenbelt parkbench wearing a lobster bib.

Or even though the Ribs cooked through all the thickened liquid and couldn’t be revived even with more stock and fresh veg….


No, it’s that poor Lucy had to suffer through the night, smelling that beef simmer and the bones roast, the golden marrow finally coaxed out of its shell, butter-like gold.
She had to smell it all night, the poor dear!

Oh, the look I got when I walked in the door….

You are an ass.

Fuckin dogs.

Well, nothing that an early lunch stroll with the dog won’t fix, and guess what?

The special at Walt’s today–Short ribs on a carmelized onion marmelade.

Mmmm...did I tell you it would be worth the time?

Join us next week for Japanese style Teppan cooking ……should be fun!!

Our Last Gig: Phoenix/Pomona

Is there anything more melancholy than driving through the desert in the rain?

Oh sure, when we packed up the gear and jumped in the luxurious CH3 landyacht, it’s all shits and giggles; Giddy to be on our way to the first road work of the year, we chatter away like tweakers on a first date.
It’s been a while since we’ve reconvened, and it’s a time to catch up as the gray warehouses of Diamond Bar, then Pomona float by….we display the latest scars, show off photos of the new grandchildren.

But soon the scenery changes from bleak suburbia to bleak desert, the windshield wipers ticking off a dreadful dirge as we speed through the wasteland.
Conversation slows, then stops altogether, and we each stare out the windows as the world passes by, thinking of home and wasted opportunities.

When we close our eyes to ward off the tears, it’s Eddie Vedder’s soundtrack to Into the Wild we hear……..

Shhh...this one needs his rest!

Heh—first piss stop just outside of Indio, and the sun is shining!! A new day, people—and a quick check to the ol Facebook confirms that it is raining in sheets back home….suckers!

Sprinkles in the desert...

Lunch is a quick stop at the Beer Hunter in La Quinta, yer ususual 19th hole tavern favored by the ladies who lunch and the unemployed who drink….

Oh, Beer Hunter...I guess I won't be needing the red scarf wrapped around me head then?

Made Phoenix by nightfall and need to stock up….

Kimm giddy as a schoolgirl in Arizona's walk-in beer vaults!

Overnight accomodations at a sterile business suite joint, but ya know it doesn’t take much to make it a home for us…..

Well, well-here's a couple of familiar pals!!

Pricelined for 29 bucks a night, and the bedbugs are free for the taking!

Showtime at Hollywood Alley in Mesa with our pals in the Freeze —-a great damn show! Had more photos, but they were eventually confiscated by INS. We told them Anthony and Alf were legal, but we’ll let the courts decide!!

Hollywood Alley, Mesa AZ

Sadly, not knowing our way around this burg after a couple decades absent, we had to settle for *sigh* Del Taco for our late night feed/debriefing session.
Late night crap fest

But Saturday saw us bright eyed and ready to take on the world–or at least some fine Bloody Marys at Suckerpunch Sally’s diner in Tempe.

Good Morning

Pictured: Steak and Eggs, side of biscuits and gravy, chorizo omelette. Not pictured: our black, gluttonous souls!

Met up with Johnny and Tyler, and small world that it is, discovered we had many friends in common. Six degrees of T-Bone, as they say…!

Our gracious hosts

Suckerpunch’s is a new roadhouse in the Tempe area, but these guys already have a good thing going. They showed us the Moonshine that is soon to be on the market…


…and proceeded to pour generous samples!

Oh don't get all prissy on's mixed with energy drink for the drive!

We reluctantly said goodbye to our Az pals and hit the ol Interstate 10 back toward Pomona.
Before hittin the Cali border, had to make a quick stop at Quartzsite….spied a bookstore right off the freeway on the way in, and you know we’re always on the lookout for first edition Jim Harrison, wot?

The bookstore

There I am- on bended knee- head tilted to scan the spines of a dozen Black Sparrow paperbacks, when I glance up and come nose to thong with the rascally bookstore owner…and nudist! friggin eyes!!

After the initial shock of dealing with a naked senior citizen (not to mention some pesky childhood memories that suddenly came rushing back!), we purchased a few mags as well as a nice Bukowski cd…..keep the change bub, and remember the sunblock eh?

Next stop: the Grubstake Social Club just a spell up the road yonder, turn left at the brown dog.

Grubstake Social Club, Quartzsite

Saturday evening entertainment at the 'Stake

Regretted not having much of an appetite after scanning the tempting menu!

mmm...and for dessert we'll be having the 'ol prolapsed rectum!
Fried Pollock, Fried Landscape

Back in the car, gotta make up for lost time! Pomona’s calling– seems as though people have been following Alf’s increasingly bizarre tweets, and there is serious doubt if we will actually make the gig…..
The skies darken, and we reluctantly head into the rain again. Lightning flashes in the distance, illuminating the barren landscape we’d skated a mere 20 hours earlier.

And once again, the chatter ceases, the car begins to go silent. A man’s thoughts turn inward, for there is no lonelier place on a Saturday night than the darkened cocoon of an American SUV, hurtling through the blackness…..

Luckily, I remembered the Bukowski cd in my pocket, slipped it in the dash and turned it up to 20:

from: Love is A Mad Dog From Hell

I don’t know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
“what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!”

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there’s beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is

And wouldn’t ya know it, soon we were right there with Buk, he cursing the audience and drinking with joy, describing the filthy things he had planned for his unsuspecting girlfriend.
The lights of the Inland came into view, and the night sky brightened– with both the glow of electrified civilization, and the promise of yet another gig to go!

Oh Chinaski, you dirty old fucker....we love ya!

Saturday Feb 6, Joey’s BBQ Pomona:

Our Last Gig: Las Vegas

No, we didn't make it on the marquee. We did, however, urinate beneath it's sublime neon glow---so we got that goin for us!

Rolled into Vegas around sundown, or I should say rolled past Vegas! Texas Station is located way North of town, right between the What the Hell? and Where the Fuck Are We? highways….

vegas 001
Kimm checks in. What a world, when yer 3rd billed under Bingo!

Loaded into the South Padre lounge and then immediately headed to the all you can eat buffet:

texas station-feast buffet 002
The Feast Around the World. Tomorrow: the Loose Bowel Movements Around Interstate 15

Tell me: What makes us eat like ravenous kennel dogs when we are unleashed upon an open buffet?
I mean, at home you probably wouldn’t consider a weekday dinner consisiting of menudo, baklava, pasta puttanesca, sushi and crawfish etoufee—would you?

Oh sure, you try to start off sensibly. You have a simple entree, maybe a few crunchy appetizers…

vegas 011
Spaghetti. Meatballs. Fried Shrimp. Crab Cake.

…but, what’s that? TBone found some Cajun food over in the corner next to the frosty machines!

vegas 008
Gumbo. Jambalaya. Dirty Rice.

And, huh? Seafood?!–oh, right, it’s Friday! The chilled seafood bar is in full swing, and though I would usually question the wisdom of eating raw oysters that have been sitting in the bacteria biodome that is a las vegas casino, it seems naturally fine tonight! Did I mention we’ve been drinking?

vegas 007
Crab Legs, Oysters, Shrimp.

Things begin to blur at this point. Not even hungry, we eye the plates of the people who have just returned from the buffet, only to bolt out of our chairs and head back to the food! Wait’ll the fellas get a load of this plate!!

vegas 006
Pizza. BBQ Ribs. Chicken.

Things have gotten silly now. Nationalities and flavors, entrees and desserts—they have all begun to melt together in our contest of culinary one-upmanship!….

vegas 005
Collard Greens, Chow Mein. Bean Salad.

Thankfully, we slow down, and eventually stop eating altogether. We come together in silence as we behold the mesmerizing sight of Tbone tackling an endless supply of crab legs!

vegas 013
TBone tries the utensils provided to extract the crabby goodness.....
vegas 010
...only to abandon the tools and use the mouthful of weapons the good Lord blessed him with....
vegas 009
...urp? Bird gets a little ahead of himself and swallows a oyster shell sideways.

Then we played the show.
Saturday: Up and at em, down to the casino floor for load out and a lil video poker!

vegas 014
10am, back at the bar, and the fellas are hungry for breakfast!
vegas 016
Bloody Mary? check. Coors Light? check. Fatburger with fried egg? Oh hell yes!
vegas 015
Tomorrow we start the diet my little monkeys--but for now, mangia, mangia!!

Alright then, great roadtrip, guys!

Rebellionfest Saturday


They say Blackpool is the Vegas of the UK. Oh yeah, I can see that….if yer solely talking about Circus Circus, baby!

Does anyone else hear Circus music in their heads?!
Does anyone else hear Circus music in their heads?!

This place is tacky and loud, cheesy good fun! Besides the legendary PunkFest, it is apparently known for a prime Hen and Stag party place. Ya know, good ol gettin together with the lads or birds for a bachelor/bachelorette/birthday/vomit-in-the-telephone-booth night out….The difference over here is that these groups wear costumes when they drink!!
We're bringin this tradition home, bitches!!
We're bringin this tradition home, bitches!!

Whatcha think?  These lads gona tip a few?
Whatcha think? These lads gona tip a few?

So back into the Wintergardens, which at this point resembles nothing more than an alternate reality if the Punkers had won the war….Wait, I guess we did, didn’t we?

Imagine a peaceful community with Punk cafes and art shows….


The shopping mall!
The shopping mall!

Even the amusement arcades are overrun by blue Mohicans!

Anthony spent 40 pound trying to get the Snagglepuss doll!
Anthony spent 40 pound trying to get the Snagglepuss doll!

And this all under one huge and often gloriously rococo roof!
Seriously, saw several mohawked couples pushing the baby strollers, to a 70 year old lad in the walker with blue hair–makes ya proud in a way, don’t it?

You tell 'em Mum!!
You tell 'em Mum!!

Quick lunch of proper Brit food after meetin up with Mr. Benny and it was time for us to get into playing mode… really, just something light for me! really, just something light for me!

Caught our ol pals 999 rip up the Empress Ballroom stage, then over to the Olympia tent for our gig. A few shots of the final show of tour:






Got off the stage soaking wet, and ran over to catch the end of the Freeze. Then onto UK Subs, and ended the night with the appropriate merriment of the Adicts…whew!

Alright Pete, we get get outta here and put on the tighty whiteys!
Alright Pete, we get get outta here and put on the tighty whiteys!

Time for a final late night sausage and a fond farewell to Mr. Benny and the Orange thing that drove us across Europe……tomorrow we head back to London and figure out a way to get back home!



Woke up in palatial digs in this nutty Czech town and decided to take in the sights.

Gardeners at Charles Bridge...
Gardeners at Charles Bridge...

Mr Benny was feeling not so well due to his recent tooth surgery, so off he went to the dentist. Now we are like free little children running amok along the cobblestones! A few touristy shots:

Ant just had to have the Steven Seagal sketch--he claims him as Father!!
Ant just had to have the Steven Seagal sketch--he claims him as Father!!
Pettin the dog on the Charles....
Pettin the dog on the Charles....

Roasted pork knuckle before meeting Mr. Anthony......
Roasted pork knuckle before meeting Mr. Anthony......

...and after!
...and after!

After the afternoon of being ugly Americans in Europe (well, ugly Candians—that was our story, brother!), we met back up with Mr. B and back into ol orange…..

Another long ass drive outta Germnay, through Slovakia and into Austria.

The sun flowers of Slovakia....
The sun flowers of Slovakia....

A funny funny thing: Due to the painkillers, Benny did not even remember driving us the five hours! Wheee! Isn’t that how Metallica became a three piece over here??

Got to Club Chelsea in Vienna and was met by Rainer of Seven Sioux. Watched their set and became instant fans! Well, no wonder: RAiner tells me later he stole half his stuff from us, but the joke’s on him: We stole all our stuff from the Clash and episodes of Banana Splits, baby!

Kimm and Rainer
Kimm and Rainer

Fun set, but lemmee tell ya it was a bit balmy up on the stage…….see if you can get a sense of our smell in these photos:

Onstage Vienna...get that mirrored ball movin!!
Onstage Vienna...get that mirrored ball movin!!


Chatted the night away with our new pals and then hit the streets for that late night sausage. Anthony has vowed to stay on this diet even when he returns home, setting the alarm for 3:30 am every night for a döner kebap!!

Bonus outside the Kebap: As we chewed on our wurst, witnessed a small black man chasing a terrified large white man into the streets! Payback for recent facisms or just a goold ol drug deal gone awry? Never got the chance as they took our half full beers to use as weapon.
And although tempted to join the delicious street fight, decided perhaps best to go to the hotel and sleep. Alf is still protesting this decision. Tomorrow back into Father Germany and onto Frankfurt……

Back to sleep my flying monkeys...the orange van awaits you tomorrow!!
Back to sleep my flying monkeys...the orange van awaits you tomorrow!!

Show day Berlin

Up and at em in Berlin, I believe it is Monday, and the cold gray sun rises in a direction we are not at all used to……Perfect!! Let’s move….!

I'm outta here!
I'm outta here!

Hmmmmm....I suppose this could be avertising any number of products, hmmm?
Hmmmmm....I suppose this could be advertising any number of products, hmmm?

Over to the Wild at Heart and met Uli and Leah, the great hosts.
An actual soundcheck, then dinner at the club restaurant, and over to–yes—another hostel!!

Kimm's getting used to this, I can tell....!
Kimm's getting used to this, I can tell....!

A lil nap, a lil shower in the community bathroom, a lil pulling disgusting clumps of hair off my feet, and it’s showtime! Met up with a Mr. Jay Lansford, he of the famous 1990 defection. Jay has lived in Hannover for years now, but still looks every bit the Sunset Strip rocker he ever was!!

Ja, but who is dis Lemmy you keep calling me?!
Ja, but who is dis Lemmy you keep calling me?!
Kimm meets up with the Simpletones.....
Kimm meets up with the Simpletones.....

Great great gig, we just were blown away by the great crowd for Monday night…called Jay up to join us for a grip o songs, it coulda been 1984 on the Whisky stage!! Late night snacks, back to the hostel and onto Prague tomorrow!