10/14/07 – Somewhere west of Gila Bend, Arizona
I’ve been places in the past that I would call the middle of nowhere. Driving from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia takes one through some sparsely populated areas. But if that’s the middle of nowhere, this might as well be the moon. There’s nothing here but dirt and sun. We blew out a tire somewhere on I-8, and now we’re waiting for the repair service, which we can only hope will arrive before we get fried.
We played at Dry River in Tucson last night. It’s one of those all-volunteer collective space type deals. I’ve always admired the principle of such places, but I feel like in practice they can be hit or miss. I liked Dry River a lot, though. A bunch of cool people turned up and we had a good time. There was waltzing during Hideaway and even a perfectly timed cartwheel by one fellow in the audience during The Spy. Carrie, the girl who organized the night, was great. The only bummer was the hipsters.
I’m not typically one to complain about hipsters. It usually strikes me as vague and cliched and curmudgeonly to gripe about such things. But what I realized last night is that being a hipster is not about what clothes you wear or how you style your hair or what music you listen to. In fact, a hipster is someone who goes to a show at a tiny music venue not because they want to listen to music, but because they think it will make them look cool. Not to experience something new or to connect with people, but as part of some kind of fashion statement. They stand around outside and smoke cigarettes and pose until the one band they already know plays and then they leave. If you or your friends do this, you are a hipster, and you are lame. Being stoic and jaded is not cool. It is the opposite of cool. And that’s all I have to say about that.
10/15/07 – Esteban’s house, San Diego
It took us 9 hours to get to San Marcos last night. Esteban and Hippie Jon came out, which was great. There were supposed to be five bands on the bill, but somehow it turned into just us and one local. Maybe the promoter could’ve told us what happened, but he never showed up. Despite that, everything seemed like it was going to go really well when we finally arrived. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, and you can’t judge a show by the way a room looks when the local band is playing, because everyone came out only to see them and will leave as soon as they’re done. What is wrong with you people? But I digress. At least the sound was really good onstage.
Anyway, today is our day off, so we’re hanging out with Esteban and getting ready to play LA with the talented Devon Williams.