Consider the can. It’s a large can. It takes up most of the room. It is clearly marked. They can see the markings on this can from the International Space Station. The markings clearly spell out “WORMS.” I saw the markings …

and I opened the can anyway.

I had to go and write about signing a boob. Rookie mistake. Now at the CD table I have all manner of boobs thrust at me.  Big boobs. Petite boobs. I’m not exactly complaining. If I was complaining I don’t think I would have this big smile on my face and be making an assortment of nervous giggling noises every time I look at Georgia. The boobs being pointed in my face are certainly not more than I can handle. I have had a lifetime of preparing for this moment. My parents never had to buy a bed frame for my bedroom due to the sheer number of Playboys I piled up under my mattress. The problem is… tonight Georgia got to sign HER first boob.

A large, smiling gentleman came up to the table. He had seen the woman before him get her chest signed and he shouted for all to hear that it was HIS turn to get his autograph! He opened his shirt wide and presented his chest to Georgia. I suggested tagging it with a spray paint can… but Georgia gamely picked up the Sharpie and walked for a few minutes in My Appalled Shoes. Luckily the floodgates did not open and the rest of the people in line settled for our names on inanimate objects. The can is a harsh mistress.

The show, by the way (yes, there was a show) was tremendous. We played a venue called Red Butte. I mean, my God, it has the word “butt” right in the name. It was destiny brought us here, I say… destiny. Butt. Kills me.

Huge crowd. They naturally went crazy for Kenny but they were very kind to us. A respectable contingent already had our CD and were singing along (something I have trouble getting my head around). We had our full 40 to play and that was enough time to hook them, land them, debone them and cook them with lemon butter. (Mmmmmm. Audience.) We had our share of technical problems. My ear monitors decided to try to kill me during soundcheck, so I punished them by taking them out and making them listen to the show and not participate. So I basically heard nothing during the entire show. I certainly taught THEM a lesson! Shem’s bass had a wire come loose and it wasn’t on for the first half of the first song. Luckily he was able to join us on the bridge so it just sounded to the audience that we were too cool to have bass in the first two verses. Perception is key in this business.

But we rose above it all and soared like turkey buzzards in an updraft over a coyote carcass in a cloudless, dying desert sky. (Sorry… been reading a lot of Larry McMurtry lately.) We are sorry to be leaving Salt Lake City. If I lived here I would sleep all day and work all night because it is 105 in the afternoon and a gorgeous 70 once the sun goes down. No wonder all the panhandlers here seem so sweaty. Please tell them to hydrate. And take the late shift.

Now we are off in CA for a couple of days till we regain our strength and head up the coast to San Francisco for the next run. I used to live in that neck of the woods so it will be a lot of fun seeing friends and family. I am very close to all of them… but I do not want to see any of their body parts.