May 1st, Missoula, Montana, Jay's upstairs
our first show tonight.
Andy says he loves Missoula, that playing here is
very weird and that he's looking forward to getting the fuck out of here. I
would agree with him, though it's hard to say exactly why it's such a strange
place to play. It's hard to think of it as just another show, but really it's
no big deal at all. Oh, there's just too much to think about. Get me to Beloit
where no one gives a fuck.
Spent yesterday driving. Argued about whether
or not hippies are filthy -- I, being the only hippie of the group, and
insulted by such remarks, had the last word: Filthy hippies are filthy,
I said. And speaking of filthy hippies, I got drunk as hell last night at
Charlie B's (after losing $40 in keno at the 24-hour filthy & charming
brains-on-the-menu Oxford Cafe), which was crawling with filthy drunk hippies
and their dogs. I tried to hit on their girlfriends and was repeatedly
rebuffed, and being drunk as hell on local bourbon, I accused one of the bigger
hippies of being filthy. He shouted something to one of the bigger dogs, which
latched onto my ankle and wouldn't let go until I told the hippie that he
smelled like a peach.
Bought some sunglasses at the Bon today and begged
the salesgirl to come to the show. If there's not at least one person there,
I'm never coming back to Missoula again, except to get drunk.
James have joined me. Andy's looking for a smoking room to try out his cheap
cigars -- cigars have taken Missoula by storm, along with the rest of America.
It's cloudy and cold here and it may snow. If my Irises bloom before I get
home I'm gonna cry.