Posted July 10th, 2009 by carls


We woke at a greasy diner waiting for greasy food, and then stopped by Bryan’s mom’s house on the way up to Bellingham to use the internet and stuff. When we got up North, we hit Chuckanut Drive and went to the beach where we messed with crabs and starfish and climbed around on the rocks like monkeys trapped in the bodies of donkeys.

I got some new shoes and pants (i had to get new pants because i kept getting dick sores in the old ones) at Value Village, and we had Vietnamese food for lunch.. Then we still had some time to kill so we went bowling. I was kind of bewildered that I couldn’t find any bowling balls that fit my hand — this has never been a problem before at any other bowling alley, thus it would seem that the entire bowling population of Bellingham either have custom balls or tiny fingers. My top score was 113. Not my best, but as long as I hit 3 digits I’m happy.

We showed up at the venue right on time due to being model citizens, but the booker/sound guy was not there yet and neither were any other bands. We loaded in and after about 45 minutes of sitting around we decided to get a 6 pack and go down to the beach. There was a refreshingly cold breeze blowing off the water and we were bombarded by extremely agile fighter jet swallows. They were really cool looking as they threatened Melody by skimming the beach and the driftwood and the piles of seaweed (and us) at supersonic speeds, and I realized that Red Stripe is a pretty good beer for summer time.

We were playing at The Rogue Hero that night — I had been to this place a couple of times before and heard that it’s generally always crowded on a Friday night so we were excited. The bar itself is pretty cool, though we had to play first so there weren’t very many people there for our set. After we had played for 30 minutes the sound guy let us know it was time to wrap it up. So of course, out of respect for the other bands, we blazed through two last songs and packed up our shit as quickly as possible. Apparently we were on a tight schedule and the next band wanted to use our drum kit. Sure, no problem!

Here’s some live footage:

It turned out that we left the stage just as people really started arriving at the bar which is always a bummer situation, but that shit just happens sometimes so we didn’t have a problem getting out of the way. The totally uncool part was that the other bands (both local) then went on to play for nearly an hour and a half each, to a packed (PACKED!!) bar. So wait, not only did we have to go first, but we also had to cut our normal set short so that both local bands could have DOUBLE the amount of time we got? I think it’s pretty cool when venues and local bands are considerate of touring bands, which I know sounds crazy but that’s just how I feel.

After the second band was finished, it turned out that the third band wanted to “showcase” our kit too. We are happy to help out other bands and share equipment whenever possible, but I didn’t really want these bands to “showcase” anything to be perfectly honest… It was like watching the Barenaked Ladies get their calf tats and flip flops greased up with hemp balm by Dave Matthews’ bongo playing cousin in the WWU greenhouse during the third year of his Horticulture major while an underwater boombox burbles Third Eye Blind from the koi pond. Of course we extended them the use of our kit, but I will add that at no point did it get “showcased”.

Next, in what must have been intended as a really fucked up joke, the bartender actually wrote himself a $5 tip on top of my $10.50 tab and closed out my card. Then he gave it to me and said “That’s all taken care of for ya!” which I thought must mean I had gotten hooked up for being in the band.. so I was like “oh awesome!! thanks man!!” ..I happened to be carrying some cymbals and stuff at the time so I just stuffed it in my pocket and didn’t see the receipt until the next day when I went to fill the monstrous Expedition gas tank. After successfully avoiding the part where, screaming, I pull a whole row of petrol pumps out of the earth and throw them into the street, I calmed myself and shared what I had found with the rest of the band. The two or three extra dollars beyond what I would have tipped anyway may not be that big of a deal compared to the $70 we just dropped in the tank, but the five of us agreed that despite our combined years of heavy bar frequency we had never seen this happen before. That’s because any bartender worth their margarita salt knows that this is COMPLETELY FUCKED.

Alright, I need to meditate for a moment to conjure up a description of the coagulated shit-blood river of lamb’s milk that was our Tacoma experience. I don’t mean to be a big whiner, overall we had a good time playing at The Rogue despite having our set cut short, and this was also the only show that we actually got paid for on the whole trip so there was that. Getting a decent pay-out is always very much appreciated! Plus I didn’t poke my dick with anything sharp all night.

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