So Much for Ohio

Styrenes Tour – Day 11

Note to drummers everywhere, with special attention to Columbus, OH:

Get your gear off the goddamned stage, and save your unbolting, collapsing, wrapping, packing, beer-swigging, forehead-mopping, and set post-mortem discussion for the green room. Call me what you like, but I learned that shit when I was 20.

Oh those Monday night gigs. Sound check with CD accompaniment at the ironically named ‘Summit’ reminds me of that Rodney Dangerfield joke about sex with his wife taking too long and he says “what’s the matter, you can’t think of anyone else either?” The engineer’s mind was clearly elsewhere. In his defense he is a freelance live sound engineer, possibly the worst job in music. From Ken @ the Empty Bottle in Chicago:
Q-What is the difference between a sound engineer and a toilet?
A-The toilet only has to deal with one asshole at a time.

Still, we squeezed out a good set for another small but enthusiastic audience. One of the more enthusiastic members, dancing and rocking out brandishing her beer at punctuating beats in the songs, turned out to be the owner. She seemed to like us, though she shorted Paul 20% of the door money. Morton’s opinion: She wasn’t dancing to the music, she was thinking about the the money she was beating us out of.

O. Henry Goes Swimming
Starting to think Morton was off on this. I think this is not going to have a twist. More of a James Joyce epiphanic thing. Paul exits the Columbus Quality Suites check-in, swimming into the parking lot in pantomime. With great imagined fanfare we unpacked and I hit the pool. It is the perfect pool for a shaggy dog paddle. About 15 feet long and 10 feet wide, and 3-5 feet deep -why bother with a deep end, I wonder. The water is a bit cloudy and about 85 degrees and tastes more of plaster dust than chlorine. I put on goggles, but sort of wish I hadn’t, as I could just make out the forms of several cigarette butts swishing around at the bottom. The pool is small enough that my strokes cause whitecaps to slap back at me from the sides and opposite end. Swimming is barely possible, and I have a betting man’s chance at contracting polio, but it’s ideal for the story, and I did manage to elevate the pulse for a few minutes anyway.

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