On the drive to Laguna Beach, I decided to send postcards to a lot of people. Highlights include an explanation of "the peculiar wildlife of New Spain" sent to a girl I have a crush on and a picture of a giant Arizona cactus sent to my parents:
Mother and Father -
I always forget that cacti like this really exist. They look so fake. I went to Shakespeare, NM, and met a zombie dog.
And on the same aforementioned Southwestern wildlife card to Nikolai, our keyboard player who can't tour:
I got the tackiest card I could find. It looks like a shirt Matt would wear. No hand jobs to report yet, I'm afraid.
See, we have a running joke about hand jobs that started on the last tour when one of my ex-girlfriends mentioned that giving and receiving hand jobs doesn't count as cheating. Since then we've had a competition going to see who can get more hand jobs. If it goes further than an HJ then it doesn't count. So far we're all tied at 0.
The club we played in Laguna Beach, the Sandpiper, is a block from the beach so I went swimming in the ocean in the last minutes of daylight. It was healing for a sore throat I've been battling all tour. I brought some seaweed out of the water and walked down the street wearing it and my underwear and holding my arms out like a zombie.
This is how I greeted Sequoia, who just put out our record and who set up the show for us. A lot of people came and they were all named Brad and Tina. We had a good time though. A dude who hand paints hats made me a green hat which I love and a drunk guy kept bugging me so I kicked him in the chest. We let some drunk girl play keys with Mark even though she sucked. Sequoia said the show was even better than the only other time he saw us, in Portland at Dante's last February.
We put the seaweed on the ladder on the back of the van and it made it all the way back to Mark's house in Anaheim where we slept.