|I have just eaten a big chicken quesadilla which I did not need to eat because this afternoon, which was not so long ago, I ate a big slab of "cajun meatloaf" and 3 eggs & potatoes & a bunch of mimosas. I've stuffed myself a little too much today, but the atmosphere has turned to a celebratory one since Tucson, when we finally met up with Sam & Barry & Jim & Brian of Bluebird. Our show in Tucson didn't happen -- there was no P.A., no one showed up anyway, there were no posters, it would've happened in this little record store, but none of us really gave a shit, we didn't unload our gear; Bluebird had set their shit up, so Brian the drummer played a single song on the drums, & that was our show. Silkworm hit the road, we stayed in thoroughly miserable Blythe, California, a desolate desert town which is apparently a big drug-smuggling magnet; Bluebird stayed in Tucson, though, to play "open mic night" at the Airport Lounge. As it turns out, it was a good move: $1.00 cans of Schlitz, lots of strange Arizonian hepcats banging their heads to Bluebird, & then Doo Rag played! What the fuck? So Bluebird had lots of fun, drove back to L.A. (their home) that night, & we slept late & got into town just in time for traffic.
L.A. (we played at "Spaceland") was fun, everyone there is just sexy as hell, I didn't get lucky in the least though I was in good spirits & ready for something to come my way. I stayed up late with Sam & his girlfriend Lesley, drinking vodka, listening to The Cult & waiting for Sam to fall off his chair so I could rub against Lesley, giving up & falling asleep on the hide-a-bed listening to Simon & Garfunkel. I thought I'd wind up out on the town, heaving wildly with Greg Anderson, who moved to L.A. from Seattle recently, & his strictly sober girlfriend Shelly, but Greg drank too fucking much & had to go home.
I'm sick of getting drunk with people who black out when they're bombed & can't remember anything. I always remember everything, & I wind up having these terrific experiences & becoming dear friends with people who, the next time I see them, can barely remember my fucking name. I think big mistakes can be made romantically when people are drunk, but I always think that good friendships made in drunken confusion should be honored in sobriety, I really do.
I gotta get some action, then I'll have something to talk about.
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