Evolution, Urinating and the Futile Search for Greek Food

Left the memorials and walked back through the National Mall towards the National Museum of Natural History. I threw my knife in the bushes outside so that I could return for it after the museum. This place was great. We saw all types of crazy mammals, insects, and fossils. They have an working fossil restoration lab in the middle of the museum. The mammal section had a large portion dedicated to evolution. There is a model of the original mammal which all others are descended from; including us! It looked like a shrew. By the way, evolution is a beautifully fleshed out scientific theory which has been continually refined and supported for over a hundred years while creationism as a science is stupid and wrong.

Upstairs had an exhibit called Nature’s Best Photography. You can see some of the photographs here. Downstairs had an huge section on African culture and a whole room dedicated to Rastafari movement. This was awesome because up until that point in the trip Ryan and I had been calling everyone “Jah people” and yelling, “IRIE!” a lot.

We left the museum, I collected my knife, and we drove around the city. Saw a few glimpses of the White House and looked for somewhere to get drunk and sleep. DC had the worst traffic thus far. Driving through the shopping district of Georgetown was a bitch and a half. After circling the Vice President’s house twice we consulted our travel book and made for the Adams Morgan neighborhood. This area was a little northeast of George Washington University. After getting lost and driving down the same roads multiple times, we finally found a parking spot in front of a private school. Then Ryan peed on their fence. We walked around looking for gyros but eventually decided to eat at the bar we planned to drink at, Millie & Al’s. The service was awesome. I ate spaghetti and drank expensive Dos Equis. We finished our meals, had a few more pints of Guinness, and headed back to the car. There were huge crowds of bums and we almost forgot how to get back to where we parked. Even though the bar area was sketchy and full of shady people, our car was parked three blocks away in a neighborhood of huge, beautiful houses. I peed in a bush and climbed in the car for the night.

Robots, Phalluses and Tears

Woke up sweaty and got ready for the day in a shipping company parking lot. This means changing underwear when no one is looking and finding a suitable way to hide your hair for the day. Ryan had shaved his head in Alabama but I was still stuck with a greasy mop of what can loosely be classified as hair on my head. We drove through a neighborhood looking for internet and stopped in front of a house that I believe contained something awesome. A steady stream of people kept walking up, meeting some old lady on the porch, and then walking inside the house. The house wasn’t too large so I’m guessing they had a basement where everyone was doing drugs (like an opium den) or it was a gateway to a Narnia-like world.

We hopped on the 95 North towards DC. Just a few hours later we entered our nation’s capitol. One of many protest/parades we would see was happening as we entered town. This diverted our driving plans but we eventually parked downtown and headed for the tourism center. The tourism office is located in the Ronald Reagan building and they wouldn’t let me in because I was carrying a four-inch pocket knife. I told them I promised I wouldn’t stab anyone but they still refused me entry. Ryan went in and got a few maps and we decided to walk down the National Mall. This runs from the Capitol Building to the West Potomac Park and contains most of the things you think about when you imagine DC: the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Reflecting Pool.

At this point I had to pee so bad I considered laying down in the grass and covering my junk with my jacket so I could piss. Instead I found a row of Porta-Poties near the Washington Monument. By the way, this country LOVES George Washington. From what I understand he was an okay president, but damn, everywhere in this country blows their load over anything he touched. I get it, he was the first president and ran the country during some tumultuous years. But guess what? The first Super Bowl had the lowest attendance of any NFL championship game. And George Washington never threw for five TDs in a half. That being said, I hope that when I die they build a giant phallic symbol for me too. The plaque will read, “Jake Vice is best represented by 555 foot tall penis.”

Hand in hand, Ryan and I walked down the National Mall and through the World War II memorial. Besides the trauma associated with war, it must be great to be a WWII vet. Everybody knows you were doing the right thing and all the best war video games are set during the time. Plus Ryan’s grandfather is a WWII vet and a total badass, but more on him later.

We walked pass the Reflecting Pool and up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. It was cool to stand where so many great people had made so many important speeches. Martin Luther King, Jr. game the “I Have a Dream” speech there and Bob Dylan played not long after. Then I turned around and saw MEGA-LINCOLN. Now I love Lincoln as much as the next guy, but seeing a 19 foot tall statue of a seated Lincoln was hilarious. Fucking huge! It was at this point I decided that instead of have a giant penis as my memorial I wanted a giant robot in my image to walk throughout the backwoods of our country planting trees and saving injured wildlife. Don’t get me wrong, I found the monuments and memorials to be both honoring and though-provoking, but I would like my memorial money to be paid towards a giant robot. The Lincoln robot at Disneyland is a good example. Although life-size and not giant, that robot still has the power to inform and scare small children.

Next stop was the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I have always known I would cry when I saw that list of 58,256 names, including 8 women, who are MIA or were KIA in that stupid, pointless war. I saw an old man touch the name of a fallen friend and burst into tears. His daughter rubbed his back and comforted him as he sobbed in front of hundreds of strangers. I’m not ashamed to say I cried then and I’m not ashamed to cry now. Watch someone tremble with grief, fall to their knees and cry out when they finally find the name of a dead loved one and then tell me that a “preemptive” war is legitimate and a good idea. Then kiss my fucking ass.

Religiously Themed Parks and Storefronts

We left the Great Smokey Mountains National Park and headed east through North Carolina. Exiting the park was the same as entering it. The park is within one day’s drive of half the population of the United States. This means that everyone with a giant shoe or ball of twine will try to get you to stop at their roadside attraction and pay $12.50 to see a clay bust of what Ebenezer Scrooge may have looked like. We passed Santaland, a completely Christmas themed park with a giant reindeer ferris wheel and other rides which I can only image the horror of which they represent. Side note: I didn’t see one “Hanukka Land” on the entire trip. WTF? Maybe Jewish people are smarter. The Cherokee Indians advertised their presence with a Harrah’s Casino and multiple moccasin shops.

We thought we might spend the evening in Winston-Salem, North Carolina but it turned out to be a shit-hole full of run down buildings and businesses and the tourist attractions were closed. We rolled east to Greensboro and spent some time taking in the sights. Ryan and I split up here. He drank in a bar. I walked down the city streets, past the Triad Stage (an important theater in town) and under the railroad tracks down through the south side until I got scared and walked back towards downtown. I saw a bunch of appliances shoved under a tractor trailer and imagined how much money my dad could get for them. I picked up the local alternative weekly and learned about the local DA who was involved in a drug and extortion ring. I read this while eating a delicious streak burger and fries at a diner on Elm Street (Johnny Depp was nowhere to be found). A man, possibly a bum, played electric guitar in an abandoned storefront. His tunes were blue and wonderful. I saw the storefront where the first sit-in of the civil rights movement occurred. Ryan and I met back up and I found a tube of toothpaste next to our car.

We drove through the night to Richland, VA. We slept in a bad part of town where the cars were loud and people kept walking by and looking as us. It was so hot I slept in my underwear and kept opening the door to cool off. We peed on a neighboring building. I began to feel a tinge of homesickness.

Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em

Got the hell out of Knoxville and headed east towards the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. Why doesn’t every national park name themselves “Great”. It’s like “Extra Strength Tylenol”. Who’s going to the “Mediocre Canyon”? Hey kids, do you want to go to the “Okay Mountains National Park”? FUCK NO! I want my national parks majestic, grand, great, stupendous and all around kick ass.

Since this is the most visited national park in the country it had the single largest tourist trap area ever in a ten mile long shit train before the park. Crappy restaurants, crappy arcades, and Dollywood. This was like a bizarro park before the park. On your way to pristine nature? Make sure you stop and race the go-karts first! Side note: a few hundred miles away in Kentucky there is a creationism museum that makes me want to cry.

We stopped in a few arcades and looked for Robotron but they mostly had the type of game where you win tickets to trade in for combs and plastic frogs. Robotron wouldn’t share the same floor space as those “games.” In Robotron you don’t win tickets to trade for crap, you win high scores to trade for self-worth…the Ultimate Prize.

I really wanted Mexican food but apparently they don’t believe in Tex-Mex in Tennessee. We passed THREE Burger Kings before we hit a Taco Bell. I had the steak quesadilla and I regret it to this day.

The Visitor’s Center and main museum at the Great Smokey Mountains National Park is cool because they have a free speech area designated outside of the building. Anyone can, and is encouraged, to spout off about their ill-researched beliefs or favorite Bill Murray movie (Groundhog Day). We drove until we saw a mountain stream and got out of the car to follow it up the mountain for about a half-mile. Beautiful and tiring. Between wheezing breaths I thought about how awesome it was that I was in Tennessee and that I wished I was boning right then. The road to the true summit of the park was closed so we blasted down the other side and into North Carolina. “Closed for the Season” would become a reoccurring theme for the rest of the trip. The southern towns and tourists traps had welcomed us with open arms but the north would prove to be a bit more reserved. We would have to get it drunk and then make out with it for no less than TWENTY MINUTES until we could get a hand up its shirt.

Urban Exploration and Film Advice

A few hours later we rolled into Nashville and drove around until we found the happening spot. We left the car next to a riverfront park and went to explore. Like Austin, Nashville has a street with bar after bar spewing out live music. The difference is that Nashville music is obviously of the more hayseed variety. I had been craving a corn dog for some days and finally got to eat one at the Paradise Park bar. That bad boy was crispy and delicious, just like the fair. This bar was trailer park themed and had a damaged Buick LeSabre in the smoking lounge. We bar hopped and drank while listening to some great country music. There are no bums in the standard sense in Nashville. They all have guitars and sing for money. I saw a very well dressed gentleman with no legs who had a giant three-ring binder of songs he would play flawlessly for anyone with a few bucks. I also saw three obviously drunk bums singing around their one buddy with a guitar. They weren’t dressed as well.

We made our way back to the car and explored the park. Right next to us was a closed colonial fort that offered tours during the day. We climbed the wooden walls and gave ourselves a tour. Not much to see, but the view of from the roof was nice. Reinvigorated we decided to wander the alleys and see what else we could see. We ended up turning a corner and walking into “World Famous Painter’s Alley” packed with bars, strip clubs, and food. Ryan got a ham and cheese sandwich and we kept walking. Eventually we ended up in the alleys behind the main strip. We found a doorway that looked like it led to the second story so Ryan boosted me onto the roof and I hauled him up from the top. After a few more acrobatics we ended up on top of a four-story building overlooking the main drag. We climbed from building to building for awhile, talked about what it would be like to sleep up there or jump off, and took in the sights. We climbed down and looked around for another set of buildings or a bridge to climb, but finding none, we walked back to the car and slept.

We awoke in a smelly, stuffy car full of condensation. Drove across town and ate breakfast at a diner. Delicious and cheap. Next to the diner was Vanderbilt University and across from that was Centennial Park which has a full sized replica of the Parthenon. Fucking weird. Here’s a hypothetical conversation of college kids playing frisbee in front of Nashville’s Parthenon:

DUDE 1: (Executes a sweet backhand toss) Hey bro, I’m glad there’s no Ottoman ammunition dump inside THIS Parthenon that could be ignited by a Venetian bombardment.

DUDE2: Hella dude. (Catches frisbee behind back) I’ve always felt the Ottoman Empire could teach us a lot about relations between the Western and Eastern worlds. I mean, they were the central link between the two cultures for six centuries. (Toss frisbee under right leg)

DUDE 1: Straight up. (Attempts a no look back catch and drops frisbee) Are you going to Brian’s party tonight?

We saw billboards for a modern art exhibit at the Frist Center for Visual Arts and decided to check it out. Admission was free because some lady gave Ryan two free guest passes while I parked the car. He also says they had sex like eight times, but it only took me a few minutes to park. The exhibit was great. It had many different artists from Impressionism through Modern and Abstract art. We saw Van Gogh’s, Picasso’s, Dali’s as well as a lot of other great work from artists I didn’t know. One of the modern exhibits was by an artist who embroidered large ten foot square pieces that often had jewels and severed peacock heads as imagery.

Feeling sufficiently cultured we drove towards Knoxville. We stopped outside of town to see a movie. No Country For Old Men was playing but Ryan wanted to see 10,000 BC. What a pile of shit. It’s the worst movie I’ve seen since The Secret. A whole lot of white people in dreadlocks speaking awkward dialogue with no contractions. Interesting choice that they were historically accurate in the fact that contractions evolved in languages over time but completely threw out science and facts for the rest of the movie. And instead of raptors, they had giant killer ostriches. If your going to throw out history, just put fucking raptors in the movie! To be fair, I think most movies would be better with some type of dinosaur in them. Not necessarily at a leading man, but maybe the comic relief or angry boss. “But Mr. Apatosaur, I can’t work late. My kid has a soccer game.”

We got a room at the Executive Inn on the outskirts of Knoxville. I picked up some Baked Cheese Curls, and some Black & Tan by America’s oldest brewery Yuengling at a Food City. The beer was cheap and great. We showered for the first time in four days and watched the Colbert Report.

WE ARE HOME! and Important Info

Ryan and I have made it home alive.  Well, Ryan is actually more dead inside than ever, even though he IS technically living.  We spread love, explored caves, fought dinosaurs and made the world a better place for rock and roll.  “But wait,” you say, “I thought you were in Alabama?”  Well, this blog has had a bit of a lag time.  Sorry but I’ve been busy f-ing shit up and kicking this country’s ass to write all these humorous anecdotes every night.  But do not fret my friends!  If you actually cared enough to read this far, you will be pleased to know that I will continue to log the adventures of Jake and Ryan.  This will be for my own records and hopefully for your continued enjoyment.  Thanks for reading!

FUTURE BLOG POST TEASERS!!!!!

-Ryan and Jake stay at a gay bed and breakfast in Philadelphia

-British women attack and we get drunk at the oldest bar in NYC

-Ryan acts like a total douche and violates the sacred roadtrip bro-code

-Jake attempts suicide multiple times while driving through the barrens of South Dakota

Dirt Color and Burger King

We bid farewell to the throngs of 311 fans and sped towards the gulf coast.  Downtown New Orleans seemed fine in relation to storm damage, but as we made our way out of town on the interstate we passed whole apartment complexes and neighborhoods that were destroyed or still abandoned.  It got worse as we headed towards the Mississippi and Alabama coasts.  Nice new resorts stood next to giant hotels that had been abandoned since Katrina.  Workers had just reopened a major bridge into Biloxi and were still reconstructing the coast highway.  I ate at a Burger King that had just been rebuilt.  Apparently it was the first fast food place on the coast in years.  The lady who took my order used the word, “Babe” non-stop.  Similarly to how I would say, “Dude” or “Homie.”

We ate near the beach and Ryan was feeding seagulls from his hand.  I told him about bird flu and he said that none of the birds had sneezed on him.  So we killed one of the gulls and ate it.

Continued north towards a campground we spotted in the atlas in western Alabama.  On the way, we stopped in Greensboro, Alabama and picked up some hot dogs, Ritz Bitz Cheese Crackers, and some Colt 45.  With supplies we made our way to Payne Lake State Park in the Talladega National Forest.  The campsite was great.  Took a nature walk and learned about hickory and climbed fallen logs.  We had batting practice with pine cones and sticks.  Started a fire, drank some beers, and went to sleep.  Next day, no showers.

Drove north along Alabama backroads and saw a whole lot of nothing.  All of the dirt in Alabama is red or orange.  Stopped in Tuscaloosa where Ryan got a haircut and I ate at another Burger King.  There was a Goodwill next to the barber shop that sold single boots for a dollar.  I’m sure it was a peg-legged pirate’s dream.  Nothing in my size though.

The Prodigal Son Returns

With a full stomach we left Austin and headed for New Orleans. We circumvented Houston and crossed through Orange, TX and into Louisiana. We stopped for the night outside of Baton Rouge and parked the car in a crop field next to an oil refinery. It was warm enough that I didn’t have to sleep in my hooded sweatshirt for once.

A one hour drive the next morning and we were in New Orleans. Our hotel was a few blocks from Canal St and the French Quarter. Check in wasn’t for a few hours so we walked down Bourbon street. The French Quarter seems like another planet. The streets are narrow, the buildings are old, and it feels like a time warp to the turn of the century except for the drunk tourists that occupy every inch of the area (us included). On advice from my parents we ate at Port of Call which only serves hamburgers and baked potatoes. Best burger of the trip by far. I also had an Abita Amber Ale which was delicious. Abita seems to be the main microbrewery in Louisiana and on the way back to the hotel I picked up a six-pack of their Red Ale and the Voodoo mini-mart (similar to how Roswell milked the alien thing, New Orleans milks the Voodoo thing…and naked chicks).

While checking in we discovered a horrifying fact. Apparently, we had come to New Orleans during “311 Weekend.” If you don’t remember or know, 311 is the band that plays crappy college rap/rock with reggae influences. They had such hits as “Come Original” and…I don’t know what else. It seems that every year on March 11th (3/11) the band plays a huge concert in New Orleans and their hemp-necklace wearing fans flock from around the country to get drunk and celebrate everything 311. Although I’m no fan of 311, the idea is a good one. Besides, the fans were nice and it felt good to know that I could beat up most of the people visiting town.

I drank five of the Abitia Red Ales and then we went out drinking and watched a few blues bands do their thing. The French Quarter is full of people all day everyday. Most of the bars are pleasantly crowded and live music pours into your ears from every direction. The booze is reasonably priced and all the tourists are so happy to just be drinking and walking down the street. We drank in a few bars and then I split off to go see a punk show.

The show was at One-Eyed Jack’s. Line-up: The Slits, Peelander-Z, This Bike is a Pipe Bomb, The Future Virgins and a band that I can’t remember. The Future Virgins played punk rock and roll in the vein of Against Me!. They were great. This Bike is a Pipe Bomb came across as the elder statesmen (and stateswoman) of punk that they were. They cracked self-deprecating jokes between blasts of simple but genuine punk rock. My heart smiled. It hurt. The band I can’t remember came on so I took the opportunity to go explore a bit and get another drink. I went down the street to Pat O’Brian’s. The entrance to the place is a fairly narrow walk with a bar along the side. As you keep walking it opens up into a huge courtyard with a fountain and lights in the middle of the city block. After the cramped streets it’s awesome to enter a place with some breathing room. Pat O’Brian’s claims to have invented the Hurricane mixed drink so I paid my seven bucks and got one. It messed me up…in a good way! I walked back towards the show and saw some street kids playing guitar in an alcove so I stopped to B.S. with them. They shared their beer, which was nice, and Nick explained to me how he lived in a house in Detroit but traveled for months at a time when he needed a break. He played a few songs and I asked him how the busking was in New Orleans. He claimed that the police had the power of Napoleonic law in the city and could make up infractions to hassle anyone they didn’t like. Apparently his friend had gotten busted for “Leaning with intent to fall.” I told him that was whack then said my goodbyes and went back to the show.

The band I can’t remember was just finishing and sounded pretty weird, but cool. I wish I had seen their whole set. Next up was Peelander-Z. They were a crazy gimmick rock band from Japan who wore crazy colorful costumes and periodically handed their instruments to audience members while they climbed around the venue. At one point they passed out a shit-load of percussion instruments and the entire audience kept time by beating on pipes and buckets as the band held up signs explaining that we, “…shouldn’t say ‘what the hell,’ but instead say, ‘what the health!’” Can’t remember their music but they were entertaining. During the set break I drank two more PBRs and talked with this girl from Milwaukee. We were both wasted and telling stories that neither of us seemed to realize were boring. She told me that she had lived in N.O. for a few months and that her mom had recently come to visit her. I told her that I was born in N.O. and had come back to bury my long lost uncle. Then the Slits took the stage and she slipped into the crowd. These ladies kept a really good groove. They were much more reggae influenced than I had expected from one of the first all female punk bands and the singer kept doing a lot of that pseudo-indian howling where you go, “Wa-wa-wa-wa!” while slapping your mouth with your hand. It seemed out of place but reminded me of Rufio and the Lost Boys from Hook.

At this point I had the drinking hunger. I spent a good long time looking for a Popeye’s Chicken and found one, but it was closed. Hungry, but still happy, I walked back to the hotel, ate some chips and went to bed.

The next day we took the trolley through the Garden District and saw all the mansions with large pillared porches. We passed throngs of Catholic schoolgirls. Saw the river and a steamboat. Ate beignets at Cafe Du Monde and ended up in an antique weapons store. They had no weapons from after 1900. I saw swords from the revolutionary war, Colts that were used in the old west, and a crazy African ax blade. They also had coins from the Roman Empire and actual buried treasure found in New Orleans!

That evening we ate at Igor’s. Igor’s is a bar/gameroom/laundromat where my parents used to drink while they did their laundry. I had the Cajun burger and a porter called something “dog.” It was good. We walked back to our hotel and a bum was following us and yelling and I thought he was going to attack us. It was cool to be in N.O. doing the same things my parents did twenty-four years ago when they were a little younger than I am now.

Ryan’s friend Chelsey drove out from Pensacola, Florida to visit and party with us. We stopped and bought beer from a storefront that was basically a guy with a keg selling cheap beer on Bourbon St. He had a sign out front that informed everyone that, “It’s okay to drink on the street in New Orleans!” So we did.

At this point I split off again to go see another show at a place called the Dragon’s Den. It was on the far side of the French Quarter so I got a Hurricane and headed out. The houses in the French Quarter come right to the sidewalk. So basically, the walls of all these people’s living rooms are right next to every drunk asshole walking by, including me. It was because of this fact that I was able to place my ear against a house and listen to this couple argue for ten minutes. Apparently this woman was angry that the man came to bed hours after her each night with the dogs. This woke her up and she can’t easily get back to sleep because of his snoring. She also mentioned his drinking problem. Fuck, look where they lived. You probably do a beer bong when you sign a lease in that neighborhood.

I found the venue, got a drink, and found a band to talk to. Being in an underappreciated, yet up-and-coming touring band myself, I knew that these guys were desperate for someone to talk with them and acknowledge their existence. I met the guys from Omega Rising and we drank and talked about the scene in N.O. and their home town of Philadelphia. Red Rockets played first and they were good. I, Octopus played next and they were also good. I can’t quite remember what I drank before I got to the venue, but after watching to bands play and drinking many bottled High Lifes I was bombed. So naturally, I called my folks and talked about the trip and N.O. I nodded off on the bar’s balcony during the set change and decided I needed to rock myself awake. My new friends Omega Rising were setting up and I meandered over all cool-style. They were a total trip. They had a keyboardist with three boards, a clarinet player, a singer/violin/guitar player and a bass player and a drummer. They were so off the wall and awesome that I perked right up. Even a zombie would stop trying to eat brains and rock out to these dudes. It helped that they all wore fur costumes and fish masks.

I left the Dragon’s Den and stumbled back towards the motel. It was after 3am at this point and there was still a mob of kids screaming 311 lyrics to each other outside of a margarita bar on Bourbon St. A girl grabbed my ass and I pretended not to notice and walked quickly in the other direction. Not only do I have an amazing girlfriend, but there is no way in hell a 311 fan is getting a piece of this ass (sorry for all the music snobbery). The “It’s okay to drink in the street” placed was closed down so I got a slice of pepperoni pizza and my final beer of the evening.

Next door to our hotel was an abandoned parking garage. I was getting my second wind and decided I had to scale the thing. I first made my way to the second floor by pressing my feet against the sides of a narrow hallway. Once on the second floor however I was trapped in a small room, so I jumped down and looked for another way. I found a crumbling brick wall and started climbing it while holding onto a chain link fence right next to it. As I grabbed the top of the wall I pulled some bricks down and they almost hit my face. Once atop the wall, I found the stairway and made my way to the top of the building (the fourth floor). At the top I found a fire extinguisher, so of course, I threw it off. No explosion or anything. I was bummed. After taking in the view of the city for a few minutes I climbed down. I found the fire extinguisher and decided to empty the motherfucker in a courtyard. After I realized that the enormous cloud of powder I was creating might draw attention to the drunk moron spraying a fire extinguisher in a courtyard in the middle of the city at 4am, I dropped the tank and ran to the hotel where I ate some chips and went to bed.

Sex (none), Drugs (prescription) and Rock and Roll (noodlers and hippies)

We left central Texas and headed steadily toward more trees. After living in the northwest for most of my life, anytime I go anywhere that isn’t crammed with evergreens I constantly think, “Where the hell are all the trees? It must be weird to live without pine needles all over the floor mats.” After a three hour drive and a few stops at thrift stores, we made it to Round Rock, TX. Round Rock is a suburb of Ausin where Ryan’s uncle, aunt, and two cousins live.

The family was great. His uncle Patrick works for Dell and his aunt Denise made sure we got some free Dell shirts as parting gifts. Ryan bought Justice League Heroes for Gavin (8) and Isabella (7) and they played the hell out of it. I had to be called in as a ringer to help defeat the Key (Damn you Wittner!). Gavin hadn’t upgraded Flash with Supersonic Evade so I had to rely on Green Lantern’s Energy Bolt for ranged damage against the Key and Sledgehammer for AOE damage and stun against the Quadlerks and those flying ray bastards. It’s almost as if I’d played the game for thousands of hours before…

The days were spent with Ryan rough-housing with the kids while I tried to crack jokes suitable for third graders from my sickbed. Ryan’s aunt saw how weak and miserable I was, and probably didn’t want me infecting her family, so she gave me some anti-botics she had left over from a sinus infection (Side Note: you should always take the entire bottle of anti-biotics a doctor prescribes even when symptoms disappear. This not only makes sure the bacteria is actually dead in you body, but stops the breeding of drug resistant superstrains. Seriously, these staph infections in ERs are getting scary). I am normally against taking medication not specifically prescribed to a person but I was on the road, had taken the meds before, didn’t have health insurance, and had talked to dead people in a fever dream not two nights before so I said FUCK IT and popped some amoxycilin.

I was too sick and feverish to go out drinking the first two nights, but we did explore the Austin during the day. We ate at Damn Good Tacos. And they were. Bone Thugs N Harmony was playing in town. We had become inadvertant groupies again. We visited the capitol building and took a tour of the grounds. We were the only two people on the tour. Apparently the Texas capitol building is seven feet taller than its counterpart in Washington D.C. I also learned that my belt buckle is the Texas state seal. An interesting fact about Texas is that while not everybody in the state is a redneck republican, EVERYBODY thinks Texas is the greatest thing since breathing. Were Texas its own country it would have the eleventh largest economy in the world.

On the third night I felt strong enough to go out on the town. They say Austin has toppled Seattle as the “Live Music Capitol of the World” and they are right. Seattle can’t hold a flame to Austin in that respect. Sixth Street in downtown has the highest bar/live music density I have ever seen (I held this opinion until I saw the French Quarter in New Orleans). We went out on a Friday night and the street was closed to traffic due to the overwhelming amount of drunk assholes in the street.

A NIGHT IN AUSTIN OVERVIEW:

-Listened to Dropkick Murphys play from the other side of fence.
-Saw way too many dudes play way too many cheesy guitar solos.
-Saw one guy play way too cheesy a bass solo. Do you ever watch a band and think, “I wish this bass player would slap and pop more.”? Me neither.
-Met some girls busking in the street. They played a song by Nico and were very nice.
-Twice walked through a giant bible-thumper get-together on the corner. They were banging drums and singing hymns or something. They weren’t handing out literature or anything but they had that glazed look in their eyes that led me to believe they were all going to go back to their HQ, pat each other on the backs and probably engage in every type of sexual act except vaginal intercourse.
-Found the punk/rock clubs on Red River Ave. Did not pay the five bucks to see an Iron Maiden cover band.

The next morning the family took us out for lunch at the Overlook (wasn’t that the name of the hotel in The Shining?). It’s a giant hotel and restaurant overlooking Travis Lake in Austin. Our watress had a scar on her neck that Ryan tells me was probably from a rope burn during a suicide attempt. She seemed nice. On old hippy was playing spanish sounding mood music on a classical guitar while we ate. I complimented him and he seemed genuinely happy that someone noticed. I saw him loading his gear into an early 90′s Astrovan on our way out. At this point I was feeling much better; almost 100%. The lesson here is that drugs work. Or that the flu had run it’s course. I’d like to think that the music healed me but, in my experience, music has mostly damaged my body and poisoned my mind. That’s probably why I like it so much.

Fever Dreams and White Boys

After a late night drive we rolled into Brownwood, TX and slept at my aunt April’s house.  In morning we drove out to the small town of Bangs and ate at their restaurant.  They have the best BBQ in central Texas.  After a delicious meal we headed out to see historic Brownwood.  We found the smallest city block in America, it’s a locksmith shop with apartments above it, and then we stopped at a bunch of pawn shops in the city.  I bullshitted with a guy about guitar gear in a Gold Pawn and he informed me about which beers the locals drink.  Apparently the locals don’t really drink Lone Star Beer.  (Side Note: he claims the Russian Big Muff fuzz pedal by ElectroHarmonix is better than the American version.  We’ll see.)  Brownwood has a dry line, near the railroad tracks, over which no hard liquor can be sold.  What a stupid state.  In another pawn shop I found a 1950′s Telecaster.  It wasn’t for sale.  The guy also had a Megalodon tooth (that’s the giant ancient shark for you non-ancient-biologists).  It also wasn’t for sale.  WTF?  It’s weird to see semi-priceless (is that an acceptable word?) artifacts in a pawn shop.  The archaeologist who pawned that tooth must have come upon some hard times.  Maybe he needed the money to buy the last dodo egg.

Back at my aunt’s ranch, along with my cousin Jonathan, we explored their property and wrangled some cattle.  We had to swap a pregnant heifer with some other cows that needed to get it on.  Ryan caught the calf and tossed it over a fence while a stupid goat stood in a bath tub that was in the middle of the pen for some reason.

That night I had a fever so high that I was hallucinating.  For some reason I was singing Ryan Adams lyrics out loud.  And even though I knew he wasn’t really there, I had an out-loud conversation with my dead Grandpa Louis.  We came to the conclusion that life is hard and some people don’t know how to deal with it.  That’s why he was a drunk asshole.  I dropped my grudge.

We had lunch the next day at the restaurant again and got the scoop on the dirty underbelly of Brownwood history.  It consists of rich, old, white, racist men controlling the town and crushing all opposition.  By the way, thank God I was born a middle-class, white, straight male in American.  The sky’s the limit baby!