Heh–sorry about ruining your breakfast–just want yall to see what we’re living with out here in the wilds of Warp!

Alright then, up and at em at the luxurious Pacific Inn Motel (Laundry at the far south east corner of the parking lot, 1.25 per load) iced down the beverages and a short hop over to the Mountainview ampitheatre thingy. Met up with some great fans at the old school stage…..

We got a decent 1:45 time slot, leaving plenty of time to socialize after:

Despite the gremlins invading the amplifiers, had a fun set–it’s kinda like playing a lunchtime assembly at the local Junior High:

And then? Onto dinner of course-queued up with the denizens and had a surprisingly lovely New york Strip with Blue Cheese topping….

Bus call at sundown and how does the night end? Oh, probably like your Thurday evening, really. TBone in a wrestling mask, drinking from a gallon of Jack—

do you see? We’re really not that different after all…..

Ooofah–hot—hot!!

It was a day when we punk dinosaurs shoulda been home nesting in the cool den, catching up on some knitting and daytime soaps.

But no.

Someone thought it would be hilarious to put on a punk show in the stifling heat—the fellas were prepared for it though, and the show went on!

We were hoarse from nagging the kids to hydrate and put on sunblock all day, but it all worked out just fine. The crews were loose and ready for the ten hour drive to San Diego….

But first more of the catching up with the punk rock high school reunion and a lil late lunch, yeah?

Back in the van and onto San Diego now-cheers-M

After the blast furnace fun of Marysville it was time to load it and hit it….

Overnighter drive to SD comin up! First had to provision the wagon for the road:

Gas station freezer fun:

The drive was a breeze…..A delirious, hellish breeze. Drifting in and out of sleep to the Elvis Comeback Special, at one point we woke from our slumber to find these nifty cow glasses of Jack in our hands.

Got to Chula Vista at 4:30am, up and at the van by 8:30am–I’m no math wizard, but I’m thinkin we didn’t get our full 8 of beauty sleep, yeah?

Over to Cricket Wireless Ampitheatre and immediately to the lunch line.

We got the drill down now—check in, be first in line for chow, make fun of the screamo tantrum dancers, then suit up for stage:

Great show in San Diego–thanks kids!

Our shared DOA/UK Subs/CH3 merch table is looking awesome by now–the rest of these bands have the custom screened tents from the record company,

but fuck that mang! This is the old school!

Back to the van for the easy ride home. Well, as soon as we kicked the little groms off the entertainment console and plugged in Elvis again…..

A short hop up the 5 for a familiar bed and onto Carson tomorrow!

Sunday morning: I stir slightly from my sleep, the delicate *snick* of the Braun KF520 coming to life. Soon the house is filled with the aroma of brewing coffee, and a man of near-fifty contemplates a relaxing Sunday at home.

Perhaps whipping up a batch of beignets to go with that coffee, and carefully dissecting the Sunday Times. Front page through Sports, the Calendar sections next, and yes, maybe even clip a few coupons.
Hey, really– what’s up with Parade magazine? Do people really write these letters asking about Liza Minelli every month?

We’re saving the Travel section for the orgasmic bowel movement that is sure to announce its intentions following cup o java nombre trois.

By God how I love a Sunday morning of leisure!

But then: What the?!!!…. Tbone is knockin at the door, the dog is barking, Anthony lurches out of the spare bedroom dressed only in his Evel Knievel Pajama Bottoms….

It ain’t over yet–It’s show day, bitches!!!

Jumping back into the van at 9am, we’re immediately hit by bad news:
the pork rinds are getting disturbingly low at this point.

A quick stop at Mercado Blanco and we are stocked to the rafters with brewskis. We refuse to let our friends and family pay 12 bucks per cup of swill. I am still lobbying for the buy-a-shirt-get-a-beer-even-you-minors-if-you-don’t-tell-Mom, but I am voted down. Burning bridges and all that, wot?

It’s last day at camp, and the tribes come together for group hugs and teary promises to keep in touch.

Joey Shithead actually takes me aside and calls me Ponyboy, tells me to Stay Gold….

Joining the Old School Merch Mall is ol pal Edward Colver, he of the hairy paws on the backwards gun. Great to catch up and see his fine work, yeah?

Gaaaaa!

Too much to do! Too much to see! Overload!!!

It’s all over too quickly, and we are left loading the van in the dark;
the refuse of a thousand broken promises collect in the parking lot corners like snowdrifts.

As we load in our battered tools and injured bodies, I imagine the melancholy of the Carny packing up after the Fair has ended—but at least that tortured soul is comforted by a new town on the horizon and the gram of crystal meth in his shirt pocket!

For us, it’s the end of the line….

Heh.

What a great fuckin time, and back home now with plenty of Summer left for our beloved ocean breezes and groaning plates of Chile Rellenos–Cheers! M