damn, napalm death is on stage now and am I ever fucked up. I couldn’t help it. We only played in front of maybe 20 people,, but I swear, those 20 people bought me shots.
we drove 20 hours to join this tour, maybe more since Sean had to slow down iin the slushy snowy areas. Anyway, we got here, we rocked as hard as we could, and now Napalm is on stage. From what I gather, this tour isn’t going the best it could. That’s cause they asked Impaled to join. We’re bad luck. That was a bad idea. Oh well, we profit!
You say it’s your birthday? Dun nuh nuh nuh nuh… It’s my birthday, too! Dun nuh nuh nuh nuh… Are you on an airplane? Dun nuh nuh nuh nuh… Well then, fuck you! Yup, today is my birthday and I’m spending it right now on a plane bound for California. With the time difference and crossing the International Date Line, I’ll have managed to stretch the celebration of my birth out for forty hours, if my math is correct. That’s a long time to spend turning thirty-one.
It’s time to go home. Always bittersweet, especially given that I have to head straight back into work. The very clean streets of Japan will be sorely missed when I begin again my daily ritual of counting the human waste deposits in the alley towards my place of employ.
Waking up in the morning in Nagoya, I was reminded I don’t like Nagoya. According to Steve from Butcher ABC there are a lot of noisy grind bands from Nagoya. His theory is that is because there is shit all to do in this burg. That seems reasonable enough to me.
Sean and I got up to get some breakfast and do a whole lot of nothing again. Eventually we made our way back to the hostel and it was time for us to go to the show. General Surgery was not going to be going as they were still sleeping. Swedes know how to get their party on. They haven’t quite mastered the quick recovery, however.
Travel tip #2: Do not be a vegetarian in Japan. I thought it was hard to get something to eat in Spain, but at least they had cheese. Here, I have to find the rice, usually served up in some kind of ball form, and then find the one that doesn’t have a fishy surprise inside. It’s not like I care about the fish’s feelings or want to pet them, I just don’t care to have it in my stomach. Wasn’t Buddah a vegetarian? Apparently he was the kind that was a vegetarian but ate fish. To the people who say that: you are not a vegetarian. As an aside, apparently there is available, somewhere in Japan, squid ink pizza. If I ate that, would I be vegetarian? Technically it’s like milking a cow, but I bet they don’t keep them alive on farms to milk.
We left Nagoya, the most boring city in all the world to head to Osaka… eventually. All those stories about the hustle and bustle here? Lies.
We got into Japan with little incident. In fact, a very little incident. The first thing Sean noticed was the slightly lower line dividers on the way to customs. In this land, we will be like unto GIANTS.
Naru of Butcher ABC and formerly C.S.S.O. met up with us at the airport and we were soon acquainted with one of the many completely uncomfortable compact vans we would be forced to become accustomed to. It was quite a journey through some traffic and rain to get to our destination in a tiny suburb of Tokyo. I was luckily exposed to pictures of General Surgery exposing themselves the night before. Too bad we weren’t there. They had gone to Tokyo, so we decided to start drinking their alcohol. Most of it was vodka, so eventually we gave up and just got some beer. From a vending machine. Now THAT is awesome.
Ah, Japan! Impaled successfully makes it to Japan without a hitch! We’re fucking stars, and nothing can go wrong!
On the anniversary of September 11th… yes, that most important date that is our friend Boomer’s Birthday… we were stymied. After getting an early start, hitting reams of traffic on the way to the airport, braving security, and getting our generally foolish selves organized and ready to go, the terrorists won again on this 9/11. They hate Impaled’s freedom. Word has it, they’re not too fond of our music either.
I have some kind of weird-o workaholic ADD complex that they don’t make a pill for. That’s probably for the best, because I’m sure that pill would have unreported heart-attack side effects. In any case, I keep myself busy, too busy, to keep from ever getting bored, but then I screw over my friends and don’t get much done anyway. I wish I was on some government stipend, and didn’t have to work, but I’m sure I’d manage to overfill that time, too.
Friday and Saturday morning, I tweaked (not literally, though I had wayyyy too much coffee) on some Impaled songs I’d been working on. Sean redid one of my new songs, and raised the bar, so I really felt like I needed to get my musical shit together. I did, but I’d also forgotten about a practice (which ended up being cancelled) and was nearly late for the next event…