Chapter the fourth

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I guess when there is less to complain about, there is less to write about? What a pessimistic view! The pint is half empty? The liter? Whatever they use over here. 

Things are going pretty damn well. We played an indoor soccer, oh SORRY, excuse me, football arena in this weird business complex. It turned out super awesome. It sounds cheap, but I guess this was the usual place for shows. The set up was actually really sweet, with a totally huge stage and great sound. The couple who were running the show were really sweet and laid out a spread of food that keeps giving. Two days later, and we’re still munching on leftovers. Not just pizza, mind you, but real cheeses, fruits, good rolls, and lots of beer and bottled water. It’s amazing to me that I haven’t needed to spend one dollar, oh SORRY, high falutin’ Euro. 

There was some grief with one of the bands and the promoter regarding “bootleg” merchandise. The people putting on the show were running their own distro, and some folks decided that despite the hundreds of dollars they must’ve lavished upon us in the way of food and the money spent on tons of beer and providing a venue didn’t make up for them having a distro at the show. I did see they had an Impaled CD for sale, and they promptly removed it. That was all for me. For others, it was necessary to yell at these people. All of us in Impaled were a little flabbergasted, but maybe we’re just overcome with how nice they treat us here. Should we expect more? I don’t know, but we all made a point to thank them profusely for their generosity after one of our touring party put up a sign with an arrow that said “fuck them” and caused quite a furor. 


The show was actually more of a fest, with four other bands playing. My favorite was the first band, Necrotic Flesh (I think). They played old school death metal, with super distorted bass, gnarly vocals, and actual d-beats, not just a bunch of blasts. It was great and I had a lot of fun rockin’ out up front to it. It was cool to finally see Fleshless, too, as I’d been getting their splits and albums for a long time. Nice guys, and the one guitar player had the most incredibly out of style mullet going on. What can you expect? They are Czech! It’s awesome.

Our set was the best we’d played so far, I thought, with a huge crowd of kids snapping it up. I guess they didn’t notice we weren’t playing the same notes, but so be it. 


Then it was back to eating. The food just would not stop coming! Also, some crazy kids who just wanted to grill us about every nuance of our lives that they’d read about over the internet or in ‘zines… it’s always weird, but I’m appreciative they give a shit. One kid gave me a pack of cigarillos which are really good until you have the second one. Then it’s just disgusting. I had to ditch the present. 

Moving stuff out was an ordeal, at least if you’ve ever dealt with hundreds of drunken Germans. The way out was by the hard liquor table, and it was nigh impossible to get the dancing Deutsche out of our way. At least they were having fun, but seriously, there was no music and they wouldn’t stop dancing. 

We also ran into our old friend Joker from Necropolis who’d apparently joined the army and was on his way to Iraq via Germany. I bit my tongue and wished him good luck. 

The next day, I woke up and we were already moving shit into the next club in Rotterdam. AH! A familiar place… I’d played this shithole 9 years ago! I say shithole in the most respectful way, as the completely decimated bathroom in this place is an absolute work of drunken, riotous art. It’s a club situated right in a nice park, and I guess the city has been trying to tear it down for years, but they just keep going. That’s rock ‘n’ roll.  


The show went well, save for the triggers we had to add to the drums because the one-handed sound guy couldn’t figure out how to get a drum mic working with the old-assed piecemeal sound board. Raul either sounded like the best drummer ever, doubling every hit even when he was just doing rolls and not touching the kick at all, or he sounded like the worst. It drove us crazy on stage, but we were told it was okay. Oh well… We must’ve done okay, because sales are up. It keeps increasing everyday. At this rate, we might not go back home totally in debt, just kinda in debt.  


I just ran upstairs to the office to get my internet fix. I’m in serious withdrawl here. I’m on the fucking thing everyday and I miss all my friends on there. Some I’ll be getting to meet in person soon, though, so that rules. 

We also got to meet Sly, the Goregnome from Fondlecorpse, a really great band from Holland. He’s big in the Razorback Family, having done tons of layouts for them and being a member of the Hive for along time. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t worry too much, it just means you’re not KVLT enough. Hey Billy, Sly leaves the house! He really does! Also, his sister gets hit on by other people on the tour and it’s funny because they don’t get the time of day. 


We stayed up long into the night, as no one could sleep after the early show. Reno, the drummer for Vile from Denmark, seems to think it’s okay to sit next to people in little tiny European shorts and nothing else. I told him that he and his European brethren’s free ways made me uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll get used to it and start running around in oddly colored designer briefs, too. Fucking Europeans. Gotta love ’em. 

Speaking of which, Stone Golem, my favorite Euro-trash / soundtrack band has managed to write a new song while I’ve been on the road. It perfectly encapsulates the European experience and you should go check it out on my myspace page. I had nothing to do with it whatsoever. 

(edit November 5, 2012: Stone Golem was me, duh… recorded in the first couple days while on tour, the vocals were recorded in the rain outside Baroeg. The track is now available here)

Now, we’re on the road again. We were supposed to get a new bus with more bunks and a trailer that doesn’t leak, but I guess it didn’t show up this morning. So yay this bus… I guess. It’s really just not up to my new super high rock star standards. The television doesn’t work, there’s not playstation… REALLY people, this just has GOT to change. I can’t go on if I don’t get my alloted Red Bulls and foot massage.

Chapter the third

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Okay, so after the Berlin show, I really know I must make no more complaints. 


Have you ever been on a Nightliner? This is my first time. It’s a totally insane tour bus. It’s got two levels, with sixteen bunks on one level, and then four tables on the bottom with televisions and a stereo. There’s also a couch in the back, a fridge, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen, albeit with no kitchen sink. Go figure. So yeah, this is totally insane. Not only that, but apparently we’re getting a second one of these bad boys tomorrow. That’ll be good, because then we can disperse the smell of filthy vagabonds between two vehicles. 

Berlin was inzane. We were supposed to go on at eight, but then one of the club workers wisely told us to beg for another half hour. This turned out great, as my beloved sour kraut Conny showed up ten minutes before our delayed start. Not only that, but she brought me one of the most amazing presents ever, a sheep skull, freshly skinned, with offal in a giant specimen jar. Yes, Conny is nuts, and apparently so am I as I carried around my little treasure all evening. 

I didn’t get to see much of Berlin, as Sean and I had only had a chance to dash to a shop where I picked up two bottles of lamp oil. Yay fire! I know I don’t have to breathe fire or do goofy antics for Impaled, as the music should speak for itself, but dammit all, it’s fun. 

Oh so the show… we played and the former eerily empty room filled up. A couple of real numbskulls wearing surgical masks came to the front. It was fun to watch them headbang and go crazy while trying to breathe with those masks on. The crowd seemed to enjoy it and we finally had some vibe and energy with each other, much better than our first show. Oh, we’re still raw and we still fucked up, but we like to think of that as part of our charm. 

Afterwards, we had some fun with crazy German kids who offered us their semen. That was interesting. They also licked and bit the sheep skull. Then again, I can’t say much, as I had draped the offal over myself while we played. What’s a little trichinosis among friends? 

I continued drinking with Conny and her sister Denise, and we made plans as we’re meeting up after the tour. Her quote of the evening, “Yes! Now let’s go out and annoy some people!” And that, I am sure we did. I promised the other bands that the sheep head wouldn’t be going in the bus… well, it is here. I have to find someway to boil it before it starts stinking. I promised Conny I would try, or maybe the stink of eighteen men can overpower the stink of the head. We’ll see.

Eventually, I made my way back to the bus, where some of the other bands had been busy gawking at goth girls in the club next to ours. I was busy gawking at more beer on the bus. Slumber overcame me, and it was beautiful stretching out in my tiny little cocoon that is to be home for about a month. 

Today, we’re playing… fuck I don’t even know where we are. That’s okay, it doesn’t much matter. The people are speaking German, so I know we’re still in Germany. It’s obvious from the drawn faces that pretty much everyone had a little too much fun last night. Couple that with the latest disaster… a water leak in the trailer! Oh yes, good times. We got lucky, and just our boxes were ruined. Deeds of Flesh took it in the nose with about 150 ruined CDs. Then again, they manufacture their own, so I know that’s only about 150 actual dollars lost, whereas our fuck nut of a label is charging the equivalent of about 9 dollars per CD to us. Thanks for all the zero tour support, you cheap bastards.

March 24

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We’ve spent far too long on a two block stretch in Poland. Walking one hour in either direction from what they like to call a hotel, there was little save for a pair of pastry shops and some mechanics. Oh, and soot. Lots of soot. 


The show went… well, let’s be fair to ourselves. In all fairness, we licked donkey balls while giving a reach around to a syphilitic gorilla. I think that would be basically how anyone would’ve described us. It was pretty damn bad. That’s what we get for not practicing our set for oh, I don’t know, a month? Raul biffed the second song big time, Sean couldn’t remember riffs, myself as well, and my bass not only had a problem in the input, but I also broke a string half-way through the set. Perfect! 

Yeah, it was bad. I think there were two kids who enjoyed it… well, they kinda thought it was okay, at least. I reminisced upon other first show of tour shows, and I have to say, we’ve uniformly managed to suck. Never come see us on our first show on any given tour. You’re are sure to see and hear the visual and audio equivalent of shit. 

Colin from Vile told us it was a good “warm up” show. Then they went on and played a set that sounded like a CD playing. After Sean had complimented Mike from Deeds of Flesh on their set, Mike said it wasn’t good according to his “standards.” Apparently, we have low standards. We think if you miss just on out of every 2000 1/24th notes, you’re doing okay. 

The people showed their appreciation by buying one shirt. W00t!!1

Back at the hotel, we drank away. It was pointed out that we managed to nearly polish off all the beer the venue gave to us while the other bands barely put a dent in theirs. Go Impaled! At least we’re good at something. 

The bad news that hit was our Nightliner was apparently broken down. It was a possibility that we would have to cancel our Friday night Berlin show. This, of course, is where all the bands have had their merchandise sent. Needless to say, none of us were pleased. Mariusz, the tour director, managed to save the day. He got us a coach bus that will get us to Berlin where we’ll meet up with hopefully the two Nightliners we’ll be living in for a month. 

Here’s the fun part: the coach bus. We had to load all the backline, luggage, guitars, and merchandise that the bands had brought with them. Let me describe my situation right now… behind me, is stacked to the ceiling and over my head are cardboard boxes and at least one giant case of drum stands. To my left on the seat is my bass, our bag of merch, and some luggage. To my right is more cardboard boxes. Now, I know, I shouldn’t complain because I’m on a bus in Europe on tour. But fuck you. It’s tight. I’m sandwiched in tighter than John Holmes inside a Barely Legal model. 

At four in the morning we started this process of completely overloading a bus. Sean and I partook in some victor gin, aka Polish wodka, and I can see why they cling to the stuff. My nerves were steeled, or at least numbed, to the cold. Go wodka. 

Now I’m getting car sick typing this, so I’m gonna lay me down to rest.

March 22

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So here I am in Warsaw. 


Let me get my first complaint out of the way. Anyone who’s been to continental Europe knows the pain of the shelf toilet. An American, John Crapper, invented the pull flush toilet. Go America. Of course, this caught on everywhere, but with variation. Apparently, in Europe, the variation was to put a shelf in the toilet above the water, so that your crap could proudly be displayed for you. With no water surrounding it, you truly get to take in the ambiance of the smell, the texture… everything you shouldn’t have to experience when taking a crap in a well crafted toilet. For what reasons the Europeans would want this, I cannot fathom. Perhaps they like to be able to smell and fully view their crap so they can gauge their health? It is a mystery… a stinky, horrid mystery. 

Our flight over was without incident. Lots of planning and organization on our part, perhaps a first for Impaled, has paid off. Well, except for the quaint lunch we enjoyed at Heathrow Airport in London that ended up costing us seventy-two American dollars for four people. Keep in mind, Sean and Raul ordered sides of “chips” and you might understand how ridiculous the price was. Lesson learned… my veggie burger was good, but not twenty dollars good. Oh well… I’ll enjoy a twenty dollar shit. And thanks to European ingenuity, I’ll be able to smell it, too!

We ended up taking the same flight from London to Warsaw with Deeds of Flesh. The main difference was, our luggage arrived and theirs did not. It’s the ultimate band nightmare; not knowing where your guitar is. They found out theirs were in London still, inexplicably unloaded onto the airplane. Hopefully, it will arrive tomorrow for them, because they will not be happy having to play our equipment. Our equipment is shit. 

Our tour manager, Browar, picked us up and seems nice, and his name is cool as all hell. It’s like a bunch of drunk dudes battling it out over who’s better, Exodus or Forbidden. A Bro War! Tally ho. Of course, the first music played for us once we enter Poland? Vader. Damn, they love that band here. 

For all you world travelers, I’ll lay out a second recommendation; lose the Verizon phone. Apparently, my cell is completely useless throughout Europe. T-Mobile not only goes throughout Europe, but they have wi-fi stations in lots of places that you can use and have the time charged directly to your account. Now, I’ve always had a problem with T-Mobile, because they have Catherine Zeta-Jones as their spokeswoman, and she fucks the pasty potato sack known as Michael Douglas. Is this superficial? Probably… but I will be switching to T-Mobile as soon as I get home. 

Warsaw is a very dull, very gray place. Seriously gray. Everything is caked with a mysterious soot. The snow here is gray, the cars are gray… everything. The buildings are low, largely depressing, and caked with soot. I like it. Reminds me of the good ol’ days of the cold war, when I was scared of nuclear annihilation instead of being dragged off and tortured by my own government. Now those are nice memories. 

We’ve been put up in a hotel for the evening. This is very interesting, as they say we have two beds per room. The beds, however, consist of one 12-13′ long stone hard mattress and a pair of duvets. Tonight, me and Raul will be playing footsie. Oh, and there’s no television. I didn’t realize how much I like television until now. It makes me feel like I’m not cooped up in a small room, which I am. Instead, I have my laptop (thank God) and a Euro-power adapter. Oh, we also have beer. Beer is good. Beer makes me forget. Thank you, beer. I asked at the store for good, authentic Polish beer. Tastes like Budweiser. Oh well. 

We ate at the “restaurancj” or whatever they call it, and got very light, very unsatisfying meals of what I’m guessing was frozen food microwaved or boiled. At least we got that. And you have to love this funny monopoly money. They don’t use Euros in Poland, apparently, so I feel all rich having turned 100 American dollars into 280 Polish dollars. Dinner’s on me!!!! I’m fucking Bill Gates! George Soros! Look at me! Cuban cigars for everyone! 

On the way in, I had a glancing thought about Polish women. See, two times, we have toured with Polish bands, Vader and Decapitated. Both times, the large Polish communities in Chicago and New York came out to support their brethren. What this meant was, loads of really tall, svelte, beautiful Polish women. Guess what? They look like that in Poland, too. Holy crap, there’s some amazingly beautiful women here. But here’s the catch; the shelf life. See, there’s all these beautiful women in their twenties, but then it seems that Polish women go into some hut for about thirty years, and they come out looking like sacks of potatoes. They’re hunched, wrinkled, and worn out. There is no in-between. You either get young, beautiful Polish women or old hags. Their shelf life is bad. That’s the best way I can describe it. 

Jeez, I just can’t believe this hotel with crazy elevators that don’t stop on the right floor doesn’t have wifi. I’ll have to save this for later.

job announcement

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“If you really want to hurt your parents and don’t want to be gay, go into the arts.” – Kurt Vonnegut

Wanted! Unmotivated alcoholics for apathy and debasement

Are you ready for a life of thankless poverty? Do you imbibe various chemicals as a way to offset your constant depression and / or ennui? Do you want to tell people of a like mind about your woes in verse or through pictures? Then we may have a position for you!

You could be an Artist!

Continue reading “job announcement” →

Back Home

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I forgot to mention something in my journal that was good. Lordy knows these things tend to make one spew bile and bitterness, so here’s the good thing. I totally doubled my money in Vegas. That’s right, I made 200% of what I gambled. Hells yeah. I walked away, you know, because I knew my luck wouldn’t hold.

I bet a quarter and walked away with 50 cents. Fuck yeah. I screamed “Dreams come true in Vegas!” much to the chagrin of my bandmates.

So after I finished being a total nerd in L.A., we got to play. Our set was probably not good, but I wouldn’t have guessed it seeing the crowd. I’m not a big fan of L.A. I walked around the neighborhood of the club for about six miles total. L.A. is kinda gross. Wow, though, I love playing there. For thirty minutes, we weren’t thirty-something burn out alcoholics playing nonsense for no one. For thirty minutes at the fest, we were thirty-something burn out alcoholics playing nonsense for a whole shit load of people.

Interesting thing about the L.A. fest… I saw a lot of bands of youngins who had their hair done like Twiggy or some other sixties femal model and wearing jeans that made my balls ache from across the room. I guess that’s become a regular thing, so no biggee, right? Well, I didn’t expect these kids to be playing br00tal slam metal. When did that happen? I thought they were all either ripping off At the Gates or having singy parts where they complain their daddies don’t understand them.

My conclusion… this is their world. They’re just letting us rent a wheelchair here. I’ll make the most of it.

Some great moments of the fest were Fetus Eaters completely ridiculous set of the best grind I’ve ever heard with a slide whistle. Also, they make a Fetus Eater beer and it’s GOOD. Spring Break cracked me up as well… good music plus good comedy equals Ross happy. Keen of the Crow was also another I enjoyed, playing some pretty emotional metal. No, I didn’t cry, I was chopping onions. So fuck off.

One thing I’d been complaining about all day was the fucking club kids around the Knitting Factory. Everytime I play there, these drunk kids come out and cause problems. Ironic eh, when the metal heads are the level heads.

Sure enough, we were loading our van, double parked due to an intense prevalence of vans, and I guess we were blocking traffic. Well, we can load our van in less than ten minutes, so these damn clubbers can wait. Except for one couldn’t. He had to come up to us, start yelling at us, and basically completely stop us from loading while we all sat around threatening each other. At first I thought he was security, then I realized he was a douche after Jason asked him if he wanted to help us and got REALLY pissed. Oh Jason, you card.

I walked up, yelled at him as he looked like he was about to hit our friend Brad. He got in my face. I told him, “There’s six of us, what are you going to do? Get outta here so we can finish” and he said “I’ll take all six of you on.” We all laughed at that. Of course, we also had a van and equipment to take care of. A few more “fuck offs” and we jammed our van packed and took off. Lordy, I wanted to hit that man upside the head with a guitar. Oh well. We were just a bunch of wee alcoholics who really just wanted to play crap music and get some Del Taco. Leave us alone, you big bully. Waaaa!

That was really the only bad thing in L.A., and compared to all the other stuff, I’m totally grateful. We stayed with our friend Brad in a warm apartment, drank some, bonded, snorted coke off a whore’s ass (just seeing if you’re paying attention) and left in the morn. All was good to San Francisco.

Here was the bummer about San Francisco… we started to like the other bands we were playing with. That’s the problem with these short road tours: it’s only on about the third or fourth day when you get to know the other bands and start being able to really joke with ’em and get along. Also, we really liked listening to all the other bands. Strong Inention, Neuraxis, and Disfear. Kill the Client was great, but they didn’t make it to San Francisco… I’m not sure why. I thought they were coming. Anyway, yeah, the night was good, everyone played well, but the end was a bummer.

The most worthy things of note were that I tried Swedish Snus, which is like chewing tobacco, but different. And it fucked me up. Thanks, Swedes!

Secondly, these sisters approached me after our set, and the one told me that not only had she graduated high school with an Impaled logo painted on her graduation cap, but we’d also inspired her through our lyrics to enter the medical field. She’s training as a nurse now, and is going to be dissecting cadavers! That is probably the coolest, sweetest thing ever. For once, we didn’t inspire people just to drink more! Or inspire people to leave the club! We actually inspired someone to do something worthwhile! All it took was 9 years, 9,000 beers, and 90,000 dollars for bullshit to reach one person! W00t!

Also, in regards to that show, we’d like to thank the Impaled booster club for coming once again and headbanging in unison at the front during our entire set. You guys rock.

hola from the road

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Well, I’m at the metal fest in L.A., and my choices are to either answer email or write something. My battery won’t last forever.


Battery? You betcha. I’m at a metal fest, sitting at our merch table, leeching some more wi-fi, and being a total nerd with the glow of computer ambience striking my pallid face. Jason is across the room doing the same thing. We IMd each other. What the hell is wrong with Impaled? Or maaaaybe… what the hell is right?

No, it’s very, very wrong. But whatever… we’re stuck here from one pm until midnight. Working. There should be a law.

So, let’s count the disasters that have befallen us so far, shall we? Yes, Ross, let’s.

We left at five am on Friday. Rather, we would have left at five if I’d not been dumb and not plugged in the speaker to my alarm. Raul to the rescue! He called, I got my ass going, and we left in plenty of time. The fun part, however, was hitting the central valley around 6, finding out it was incredibly cold, and that the heater on my van no longer worked! Oh for fun!

9 hours or so later, we hit Chula Vista and rubbed our frost-bitten feet back to life. We were about a half hour late to the meet up point to enter Tijuana, but only Kill the Client knew that. Everyone else was late. In fact, Disfear was five hours late, and we somehow got stuck with the job of carting their stuff into Mexico. See, they had to go to Guitar Center to get new guitars. I assume this is because Sweden is rad, and the government pays musicians to do things like go to other countries to buy brand new Gibson SGs. Well, we were pretty pissed, but apparently, this Guitar Center was staffed by the retardededs, and they couldn’t get them out in a swift manner. Come to think of it, every Guitar Center is staffed by retardededs. Especially the one Raul works at.

Finally, we get into Tijuana, or rather, into customs. About an hour into it, we’d gotten to see plenty of handcuffed Mexicans and one crying 18 year old brat who was trying to sneak back Viagra, so he could become the skinniest porn star ever. I assume.

Tijuana was cool. Apparently, you drink while driving. At least, we did. The venue was fun, full of smelly crusty punks bestudded with vests galore. It smelled bad, the venue was hard to load into, and people had no idea who we were. So basically, it was like a gig in Oakland.
Strong Intention, Kill the Client, us, and Disfear all seemed to have decent sets. Oh wait, no, ours sucked. It was well received, though God knows why. Thank you punk rockers! The sound guy apparently had started on the job training that day, and our own Raul was his only help, the only problem being, Raul had to be on stage. Three mics magically turned into one as they kept failing to work. Sean and Jason and I had to waltz and share the one mic. Good thing we took those dance classes together.

So, we got out of Tijuana okay, and then had to wait another hour or two for Disfear to get their balls grabbed by horny customs agents. Once they finally found us, we gave them back their gear, and they took a surprise detour to Phoenix. Huh? Oh well. And we were off… to fall asleep in our cold van outside an Arco around four or five am.

The next day, we got up, at total garbage at some dive, hated life, and headed to Vegas. Here’s the thing… I hate Vegas. It’s the sign of all that is wrong with America. It’s open-air, yet air conditioned nightmare that sucks all the energy and water out of California into the desert of Nevada… and has miniatures of everything. Pyramids, New York, celebrities … I fucking hate it. We played in lounge. Some kids came, even ones to young to get in, and despite misgivings, we had a good time and we’re glad to play for people out there. Seriously, though, people… fucking move. It’s a desert.

We decided that night we should buy beer and treat ourselves to a hotel stay. It was a great idea with one hitch: every hotel from Las Vegas to L.A. was completely booked. I shit you not, we checked maybe thirty to forty hotels in various tiny towns built for the sole purpose of housing idiots like us. Nothing. Please, motel hotel industry, start using those light up “No Vacancy” signs instead of tiny ball point pen signs that we have to get out to read. It would save us a lot of time.

Seriously, though… what the fuck were people doing out there? EVERY hotel booked? I’ve never seen anything like that.

So our planning was for naught. We had no choice but to go to L.A. We’d checked all the hotels and were a mere hundred miles away before we gave up. So I called my friend Elaine there around three in the morning begging for a place to crash for just a few hours. I was so freakin’ tired. Elaine’s awesome, an old friend and always there when I need her. We were set to get there in not too long… except for the blizzard we ran into.

Have you ever felt like you were almost going to die? I have, twice. Now, three… fog, snow, slush, and a van that was a great refrigerator. We couldn’t stop, and we were worried we wouldn’t be able to go on. Luckily, the police escorted a bunch of cars through it, and we did make it.

Finally, we got to L.A. and the heat… oh the heat was on at the apartment. We crashed, and crashed hard. Hard, for like, three hours. Oh eight hours of slumber, what a blessed dream ye be! We had breakfast at Canter’s, a world famous Jewish restaurant with my super famous peep who hangs with Ashley Simpson on a regular basis. She’s THAT cool. But I’m not name dropping, oh no.

So far, it has been good here. We only got a few hours sleep, but the best thing was showing up to the fest on time and finding a good place to stow our gear (if it doesn’t get stolen) and grabbing a sweet merchandise table (as opposed to having bands give us dirty looks while we ask for a four inch by four inch corner of their table). It’s a cut throat business, death metal… mainly because it’s a shitty business.

Why do these sound guys think that blowing out subwoofers makes a band sound good? It’s terrible. It sounds like shit in here, but the karate kids are doing their thing, so I guess they’re happy. Hopefully they’ll hit each other and do us all a favor.

We’ll just have to see how our set goes. Can’t wait to hear nothing and watch the faces of shiny, happy people mouthing “WTF?”

And of course, I’m having a blast. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

9/30/82 – 9/18/04

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Normally, even though sometimes it doesn’t look like it, I really do try to be reasoned and not get too into some of my heavier emotions on here. Anger is okay, some regret, empathy definitely… but I try not to dwell in sadness. I’m sure it creeps up, but I don’t want to dwell. Now, however, I am in mourning.
My friend Stevie died.
She didn’t JUST die… actually she died a year and a half ago. I just found out like an hour ago. The last time I’d written her was the summer of 2004, I think. I never got a response. I wrote again months later, then in 2005. She had an account on tribe.net that she had not updated in forever. I couldn’t figure out if I’d inadvertently pissed her off. She was quite the traveler, so I figured maybe she was training tigers again, or off on one of her other crazy adventures. Today, randomly thinking about her once again, I googled her name and found a R.I.P. next to it.
A little history, and I apologize if this comes across as rambling.
Impaled was on tour in the summer of 2001 with Vader and Skinless. It was a pretty rad tour, and miserable at the same time. It was an odd time as one of the other members and I were having a falling out. While our friendship mended and lasted, the band relationship didn’t.
In any case, we had a night off and were set to pass about an hour north of New Orleans. I looked at the map, and I told the driver he was nuts if he thought we could pass up a night in New Orleans. So off we went. So did all the other bands, it turned out.
I ended up getting absolutely ripped at this one bar. There were two emcees there, one boy and one girl. We ran into Skinless, and I remember talking to Noah about how hot the girl was. Absolutely lusciously beautiful with a rear we couldn’t stop talking about. Of course, she was working, and as Sean has always told me, you can’t peel the bartender, i.e. you can’t pick up on someone working. I proceeded to drink, get stupid, dance, pick up on girls I had no chance with, puke, etc.
At some point, I really hated life. I’d already puked and was drinking more. This was at a point when I had the most enormous crush on this one girl, and I had written her everyday during tour. It seemed like folly. When I was drunk and at that moment walking around the French Quarter, my whole life seemed like folly. I probably had gotten into an argument with our guitarist. I did a lot on that tour. Sherwood from Skinless found me and bought me one of those grenade drinks. It was uncommonly tender moment from him. I probably looked about as pissed off and hateful as I felt. At some point, he led me back to the bar I’d started at, and there was Raul talking to the emcee, and we somehow decided to head to another bar with her.
Here I don’t know what happened. The group got lost, and it was just me and this emcee girl entering this other bar. She described herself as French Quarter royalty, and sure enough, got us some free drinks like a Queen. Not only that, I found out she was only 20, and no one cared, ’cause somehow, she could just do things like that. I found out her name was Stevie.
She soothed me somehow, just talking. I think I play it off a lot, but I’m sure a lot of my friends know I can be really moody. I don’t know what she saw in me, or what she was thinking, but she decided to become my guardian angel that night. She “kidnapped” me, as she put it. We took off in her truck, away from the tour. She took my broke ass and bought me cigarettes. I could hardly walk at this point, mind you. She took us to the side of a river, and we chatted all night long. She told me about the graves in New Orleans, how she used to be goth and had to dress “shamefully” as a bar emcee (she looked gorgeous). We ended up kissing under the moon.
Eventually, as dawn was set to break, I had to go back to the smelly tour bus. We exchanged information and parted ways.
I exchanged a lot of emails with Stevie. She was there for me and listened to my griping through a fairly tumultuous relationship. I hear about her crazy travels from New Orleans, to Floridian Renne Faires, juggling, absolutely insane shit. I always told her I was jealous of someone with such freedom of life. She offered to be my angel again, anytime I wanted, and come and save me whenever I was down. I kept a picture of her that got me into a LOT of trouble. I couldn’t help it, though… she was just a dear, good person that meant a lot to me.
We corresponded for a long time, sometimes intermittently, sometimes more frequently. I’d told her she would always, always have a place to stay with me if she ever came to the Bay Area. Then, in 2002, she and a friend showed up. It was right after Burning Man. There was just one problem… the girl I’d had a crush on? I’d managed to get her to be my girlfriend. And she still had a letter I sent her about the “amazing girl” I’d met in New Orleans saved. And to top it off, after one of our infamous break-up/reconciliations about a year earlier, she’d found that picture of Stevie I had on my desk at work. That was really, really dumb.
My girlfriend would have none of it. I was to have Stevie nowhere near me, let alone staying at my house. Stevie couldn’t understand. She said, “Bring her over! I’ll show her I’m cool… we can play Monopoly till the sun comes up.” No go. It was bad. I felt so bad. Now, I have to feel worse, because to expunge this all from my soul, I have to confess to my girlfriend at the time, who is likely to read this, that I lied to you. I apologize. I allowed her to stay at my house. That was it. I stayed at my girlfriend’s, and Stevie and her friend stayed at my house. When I needed to be back home with my girlfriend, they stayed at my friend’s house, to whom I’m forever grateful towards. I spent some time with Stevie, but only as the pussy-whipped jerk that had to go back on his word of being a hospitable host.
Needless to say, our quality time was not quality. It sucked. Still, though, she cared. She didn’t like the situation, but respected what was going on. She told me before she left that if I ever had things different, or if I needed to be “kidnapped” again, to call her. She told me she meant it.
We wrote and talked. She was there when my life felt like it had lost all meaning. She lent support. She was just there.
Then, two years after I’d met her, she was coming out to the Bay Area again from Burning Man. She came at the strangest times… I wasn’t very happy in 2003. I’d lost the girl, another band member, and just moved into a house I thought I hated. She showed up, her truck covered in dust from the playa, with two gifts… a dirty bike, and a scorpion we named Fuck Frankie. Some of my friends have met that scorpion. He’s still an angry little fuckwad on my shelf. I know he hates me (scorpions hate everything) but I love him a lot right now.
We watched him eat for the first time, his little head opening up and swallowing a cricket whole. It was awesome.
She was gonna crash at my pad for two weeks and look for a place to live. All her stuff was in her truck and we moved it into my room. She was so beautiful, it’s hard to describe, and so vibrant. She taught me the rudiments of surface juggling, like David Bowie does in Labyrinth. She told me about helping to train tigers, learning to sword swallow, just crazy, intensely crazy stuff. We went to Folsom St. Fair where she broke a paddle across this hapless guy’s ass. Everyone wanted a picture with her. She was my gypsy, I told her. It was inevitable, we told each other. We ended up making incredibly passionate love and holding each other tightly.
This was an awkward time to say the least. I hated my brother, I hated the house I lived in, I hated the bands I played in, and I hated my friends. A girl I’d been casually dating had her heart elsewhere. Stevie was so ready to be my angel again. She cooked, she cleaned, she even tried to be super nice to my family. I wasn’t ready for it. Things were too tumultuous in my head. One night after I thought she’d been doing nothing to find her own place, I was really mean to her. When she asked what was wrong, I told her I didn’t sign on for a wife. She left as I chased her car down the street.
The next day, she came while I was at work and got all her things. I felt terrible. I felt even worse when I called her and found out all her things had been stolen from her truck. Everything. That was her life in there. I finally went to where she was staying. She’d decided to head home to Connecticut until she could get her bearings back. I held her as she cried and she asked me why. I wish I had an answer, even now.
As we parted ways, despite the turmoil, she told me again she’d always be there for me, whenever I needed her. She would rescue me from anything and take me away. I knew she meant it, too.
We continued to correspond and maintained our friendship. I spoke to her on the phone while she spent the holidays in her mother’s house in Connecticut. We emailed sporadically, again. When I got a new girlfriend, she told me that girl had better treat me right, or she’d take care of her. I too wanted her to find someone beautiful that made her happy. We had a good bond.
She was again going to go and work at Burning Man again, and possibly would come out and visit. That was the last email I got. I never heard from her again. I wrote a few times more, but nothing.
April 2005…It’s been so long since last I wrote you and no reply…
I just wanted to send you a note to let you know you were in my thoughts and I hope everything is going super-duper awesome for you.
XO
Ross
Now I’m looking at a memorial website to her, set up more than year ago. Apparently, she did find someone at that last Burning Man, and that is good. She looks really happy in all these photos. I understand why she never wrote back. She loved the desert, and that’s where she said her last goodbyes. Of course she would’ve written back if she could’ve. She never would have let me down. She was an angel.
Much love to you, Stevie. Thanks for touching my life.