May 3; Beloit, Wisconsin
In the basement of a
frat-house-turned-dorm-room, waiting to eat spaghetti, waiting to play a show
in the Coughy Haus before we move on to Madison, before we move on to real life
in Chicago. We played here in 1992, when we were thrilled to make $250 and be
fed pizza... The last few times we were a little bewildered by the response
from the drunken horny frat and sorority crowd that frequents the place. But
the pay is good, the kids are nice. So what the hell, we come back for more.
The Missoula show was fine enough. We were all stunned by the amount of
boozing among the young Missoulians -- they don't drink to have a good time,
they don't drink to relax, they drink to get fucked up, which they can do with
the best of 'em. Certainly better than me. After the show I tried to break up a
fight between a scrawny kid with a baseball bat and a drunken riot girl. I
failed miserably and made a fool of my big-city self. But I just had to do
something -- no one says "lick my ass, bitch" to a budding feminist and gets
away with it when I'm in earshot.
The gal I was dying to see in town met
some guy in January and he's already met her folks, so I just can't catch up.
But don't you worry 'bout me, I'm nothing if not resilient.
The drive to
Minneapolis (Christ! I just heard it's prom night tonight!) was miserable. The
rain was crashing into us from the North on a 40 mph wind -- the van was sloped
at a 30 degree angle for a day and a half, It drove me crazy... Oh, but we
stayed in the cutest little grandma's hotel in South Dakota. It was just fine.
Though I couldn't sleep well -- I've got to get used to sleeping with little
Andy (Cohen) again.
Last night was our most pleasant and best sounding
Minneapolis show to date -- thanks, I'm sure, to James our soundman. I bummed a
smoke from a girl who said, "you guys rock, and I'm from Seattle, so I know
what rocks." I spit in her face and put my cigarette out in her drink.
Todd Trainer was there with his pal Chris, who used to sing for Bricklayer
Cake apparently but now drinks a fantastic amount and makes robotic puppets for
Walt Disney. Todd was quiet: "I'm tired, I've worked all week, and I've been
listening to Chris for 45 minutes." Jesus, it was indeed exhausting to talk to
(be talked to by) him, but entertaining enough -- at least he wasn't a
miserable and bratty drunk like the Missoula kids (Kerry that's the last of the
Missoula-drunk bashing, I promise).
Drove an hour or so and stayed in a
nice place near a K-mart. Woke in the middle of the night with Andy "spooning"
me from behind, rubbing against me and calling his girlfriend's name... I gave
him a sharp elbow in the gut. He said, "Mikey? Is that you?" I said it was, and
he faded back to sleep, mumbling apologies. He recalled nothing in the morning
and will of course deny the whole story.
Had an enormous
biscuits-and-gravy-laden breakfast today, so let me tell you I'm ready to
explode for these college kids.
I'm adapting to life on the road easier
than in the past. I've had a long enough break that it actually feels a little
like a vacation, which touring hasn't felt like in years. Hallelujah!
Okay, gotta go, my spaghetti's getting cold.
Todd's entertaining drunk friend Chris, in Minneapolis, was in Rifle Sport, not
Breaking Circus. Sorry.