All the draught beers come in giant mugs here, and shots are very small.

We were really trepidatious about this show, having been warned by numerous people that Salt Lake City on a Sunday night was guaranteed to suck ass. The show was one of the last to be booked, and we didn't know anyone in town. Then, last minute the venue was moved to an "acoustic night" at a club downtown. Oh boy.

Guess what though? It was awesome! We met some incredible people—Will at the Urban Lounge, despite his insistence to the contrary, is a terrific live sound engineer. Brent from The Awful Truth is an amazing guy with a
great band (which is just him mostly)—seriously, give it a listen. And Boots to the Moon is my new favorite band, period. Here's an old video, but he's even better now!

We have so much fun, and party until they close. Dave, the bartender, tells me as I'm closing my tab, "tell your friends: it IS possible to get drunk in Salt Lake City."

I can only lurch gently in agreement.

We are up at a ridiculous hour; we're driving all the way to Los Angeles today, we've decided -- a completely insane drive. Bagels for fuel, and we find I-15, the freeway that will be our home for the next 10-12 hours. Storms and snow through Utah, whose roads are the worst of any state we've seen. Although as we pass through southern Utah, canyons beginning to loom around us, it clears some and we get some spectacular views as we leave the state.

But to be honest, as much as we enjoy the show, and as good as my dinner was, for the most part Utah can go fuck itself. Most people are mean, and bad drivers, and they're pale and smell funny. Fuck their wide streets and crazy liquor laws. Fuck their beehive logo that looks like a turd. I want to take all the amazing beautiful creative funny people I've met there and gather them all up and tuck them in the back of the van and bring them home to Portland. But they wouldn't fit, because it turns out in spite of how bad the place is, there are a lot of really amazing people there.

We get maybe 20 minutes of Arizona. It can basically go fuck itself too, although a little less hard than Utah I guess.

Nevada's ok though I suppose. I think it's rad that if I want to get a hooker, that's cool with them. I like that I am free to be an idiot and not wear a seatbelt (don't worry Mom, I wear one anyway). I like that I can drop a quarter in a slot machine while waiting for the shitter. I REALLY like the bright sunshine after so much dreary rain over the last 2 days. Joshua trees, tumble weed and sage brush.

We blast through Vegas, which can go fuck itself even if the rest of the state is alright.

Noah plays with his dipstick.


I'm listening to the new Red River album in the car, having just bought it from the Brave Records website (for a measly three bucks! What are you waiting for!?) and it is so so so so so so so so so (x100000) good. They invited us to play their record release show, but I think we can't do it because Paul's out of town. I'm bummed about that.

Kind of homesick today, probably the hangover, and nerves about being in the big city, and general road-weariness, slight sickness, lack of sleep. Geez, no wonder I'm so cranky. I take it all back, Utah. I take it back, Arizona. I'm sorry Las Vegas. I just need a nap.

Dirty MittenSpace
The Awful TruthSpace
Boots to the MoonSpace
The Red RiverSpace