July 10 - The Project Lodge, Madison WI

The drive proved nice and short.

Short enough for Mike and I to wax poetic about life and ideas.

And short enough for Chicago friends from the Columbines and the Electrical Audio board to join us for the festivities.

The Project Lodge seems to be a general performance space, catering to wall art weirdos, theater geeks, improv nerds and music jerks.

On its stoop, we drank Supper Club canned microbeer, while Julia introduced Mike to brandy.

A bag of No Salt brand potato chips sat on a stool, lonely and unpopular for all of the night.

The Bitter Tears were a three piece tonight.

In the van, Mike and I made a decision to wait for me to catch my aerial drumstick during the break in "Stumper" before jumping back in. I had been dropping it about 86% of the time, because I was trying to bounce the stick off the floor tom, catch it, and hit the beat, all in one quarter note rest. You can't rush gravity. It's like trying to throw a ground ball to first before it gets to your glove. The ball goes through your legs.

So now we are bringing the song to grinding halt, all for one lame bit of flash that I clearly stole from 1966 Keith Moon.

I think the show was fun. It was a bit sloppier than last night.

We played "Things A Boy Loves On TV" for the first time in a while.

Mike Behrends and The Gentlemen Trailblazers headlined with suitable music that sounded good. Hooks, y'know. Those things work.

Around 11pm we were suddenly kicked out of the space because one of the owners had a tummy ache. So our friend Reem ended up hosting an after show party on her deck.

Of the ten people there, she knew four.

More brandy was consumed and stories were told.

I learned that the guy from Anthrax invented a watch that operates in speed-metal time.

Then a local man told us his tale: He smoked a bowl to prepare for the washing of his dog, when suddenly his parents showed up unannounced. He kept them busy outside with his dog and his children while he ran around those spraying solvents. Every time his dad comes over to the house he has to take a poop. Luckily, on that occasion he chose not to.

Somewhere around here someone fell out of their chair from brandy.

The evening was telling us that it was going home.