I *could* blog about how Trix and I drank Guinness at our local watering hole last night JUST LIKE THE REST OF THE COUNTRY, but who'd care? Yawn. Wow, you drank Guinness on St. Patrick's Day? How remarkable and fascinating, whee!

INSTEAD I'll mention that last Friday we saw this guy in concert:



This, my friends, is the legendary Sky Sunlight Saxon, who fronted a group in the 1960s called the Seeds. You may remember them from their classic garage hit "Pushin' Too Hard," or their classic, warped psych classic "The Future." Lester Bangs loved 'em, and they burned bright and fast. Sky himself still plays shows -- but he didn't play a lick of "Pushin' Too Hard" on Friday, preferring instead to play some extremely fucked up but occasionally awesome new stuff, at least some of which sounded made up on the spot a la Jim Morrison at his most extemporaneous.

Sky's recently taken up with Father Yod's Ya Ho Wa religion, and if you don't know about Ya Ho Wa, well, here you go. Basically they're a kind of hippy music/love/god collective who also are a band and make records, most of which are pretty fucking awesomely fucked up. There were no Ya Ho Wa people in attendance on Friday, in fact:

The tragedy: There were like 20 people in attendance. Come ON, Los Angeles. Have a sense of history. This is SKY SAXON, here, he was punk before punk EXISTED, y'know? Attend shows that aren't MGMT shows (not that I don't dig MGMT, but I'm just saying), okay?

The cool thing: Their drummer is most likely gonna be our drummer soon. That rules.

This is why I love Los Angeles.

Awesome Minneapolis writer/anti-hero Steve Marsh weighs in on the Jonny/Trixi engagement and his now infamous "bye-bye Jonny" question here. For the record: I apologized for my neurotic angry outburst to Steve a while ago, he's a good guy and a good writer and, I think, a Uri Geller/Ted Serios-level psychic (but can he make photographs WITH HIS MIND? I think not.) I'm just disappointed that the ensuing MNSpeak thread turned into yet another Juno thread and not a discussion about my loose morals and insane lifestyle.

(Amusing note: The original MNSpeak thread on the topic, months ago, had an anonymous commenter who said I was, in fact, a crazy, fly-off-the-handle loose cannon, as he "knew me from long ago." As I told Mimi recently, I secretly wish that was true. I wish I was the kind of insane, wild, fly-by-night character that had the reputation for being a loose cannon -- alas, I think my reputation as a "milksop" is pretty well set in stone.)

Product review: Absinthe

Ahhh, The Green Fairy, Absinthe. The drink of choice of yr. better romantic poets and impressionist painters (Van Gogh was notably a fan, as well as Oscar Wilde and Aleister Crowley), Absinthe has been illegal pretty much forever due to its alleged (ahem ahem) hallucinogenic properties, as well as its supposed ties to "rheumatism, the gout, epilepsy" and god knows how many other things we now know are caused by anything but drinking Absinthe.

In a rare moment of clarity, the US Government has apparently seen the light and made this wondrous drink legal again, and lo and behold, the Snake Pit, my Neighborhood Bar, has seen fit to not only stock it but feature it. Miss Cody had already sung its praises from the streets of Olde New Orleans, so Trix and I figured we'd be the bold experimenters last night.

Pretty much the entire bar was afraid to try the stuff, so they all sat and watched us, expecting us to start screaming that the bats were coming for us, but that didn't happen. The bartenders did it right -- dropping water from a rather Victorian-looking contraption through a sugar cube to turn the concoction cloudy. We downed the black-licorice-tasting beverage quickly (because, y'know, who the hell likes black licorice?) -- then another -- then waited for the effect.

Wikipedia would have you believe that the hallucinogenic properties are nonexistent, and I can tell you that is not the case, though they have no doubt been exaggerated by legend and lore -- neither of us had any desire to cut our ear off and mail it to an old flame, that's for sure. However: it is definitely different than the effects of plain old alcohol. We were both consumed by what we could only describe as a profound "warm, tingly" sensation. We were definitely more lucid than if we'd pounded, say, two shots of fine aged Scotch, which was intriguing -- intoxication with a modicum of lucidity. And yes, there were definitely visual effects -- not like the full-blown hallucinogenic effects of LSD, say, but a very intriguing sparkle over everything.

We had what I would describe as a "reasonable" amount of the stuff -- I'm intrigued to see what would happen if we pounded, say, four shots of it or something, whether the effects would be heightened or whether we'd just get drunk and pass out. Hm.

Travel Bolg #4

Okay, first off, some pictures, all shot by Trix:

This first one is an abandoned hotel in Tecumcari, NM, featuring an awesome mid-century-modern sign. It's famous for being one of the first hotels ever with the "Magic Fingers" mattress, no lie. This is from the absolute heyday of Route 66.



Here's a lovely photo looking down the street in Tecumcari. Just about every business is abandoned. It feels like the Forbidden Zone in Planet of the Apes. It is both beautiful and incredibly sad.



Finally, this is the gorgeous deco lobby of the Monte Vista hotel in Flagstaff, AZ. The people in the upper right are real, they are not spectral.



Our last day was kind of "hurry up and get there" -- after spending another couple hours messing around in Flagstaff, which we officially fell madly in love with (I could spend a month exploring the lovingly restored 1800s-era buildings as well as the Route 66-ania hotels along the business loop), the rest of the day was basically just ONE. LONG. DRIVE. with a few stops along the way to pick up supplies / pee / gas up. Route 66 fans: I'm sure I-15 from Barstow to Los Angeles is a perfectly wonderful modern invention that speeds up transit but it is also the most DANGEROUS AND AWFUL stretch of road I've ever driven. Gone is the leisurely pace our 50s forebears had, replaced by psychotic Los Angeleans driving 1000 mph to and from the outlet mall on the edge of Barstow. Gah. It sucked.

We ended our trip having a lovely dinner at the Formosa, a gorgeous Olde Hollywood restaurant not five blocks from my house. Its absolutely marvelous -- the food's great, and its loaded with atmosphere and old ghosts.

Ladies and Gentlemen of Los Angeles: Miss Trixi B has officially arrived!

Travel Bolg #3

I'm all fucking Scooby Doo up in this bitch -- we're staying at a gen-yoo-whine haunted hotel in Flagstaff, Arizona, the Monte Vista. Its haunted by like seventeen ghosts, no lie. There's the ghost of two dead prostitutes who supposedly sneak in your room and strangle you at night. Not to mention the ghostly sounds of a baby crying that can be heard in the basement. We've so far seen no apparition but our hallway feels, like, LOADED -- its colder than the rest of the hotel. John Wayne stayed next door (we're in the Lee Marvin suite!!) and he heard the ghostly sound of a spectral bellboy knocking at his door, so we're expecting a late night visit from him. Hope he brings canapes.

Today was the best day of the trip so far -- Route 66 kicked in big time today, like old school Route 66. We spent an hour in a town in New Mexico called Tecumcari, which was, in Route 66's heyday, a major stopover, but now is filled the ruined husks of Guggi-style motels and diners, shuddered up "Cars"-style thanks to the MODERN EXCITING I-40 that now bypasses the sucker. It was absolutely beautiful to people who love ruination and 50s car culture as much as we do. We blew through 2 rolls of film taking pictures of destroyed drive-ins and ancient, rotting motels.

We HAVE pictures, but the hotel's internet connection is all 1800s and shit. We'll post 'em tomorrow, swear.

Product reviews:

- Dr. Pepper Cherry Chocolate (Limited Edition): Trix says it tastes like a chocolate Tootsie Pop (TM) and she's absolutely right. Delightful.

- The "Big Hunk," a weird hard white caramely nougaty thing full of nuts. Trix: "It was far too hard, but if you sucked on it, it got a little soft, and then you're able to swallow it." It tasted great, but was teeth-rotting and kind of hideous texturally.

- Some kind of weird "Nut Cluster" -- it was pink and peanut-filled and was so disgusting I had to spit out the single bite I took. I can't even describe the flavor. Kind of like peanut cough syrup.

Tomorrow: We're LA bound, folks. Can't wait to see the cats again.

Travel Bolg #2

Dateline: Amarillo, Texas.

We are staying HERE.



Why, you ask? Well, c'mon -- we're traveling up the legendary Route 66 (see: either Manhattan Transfer, the Rolling Stones or, in a pinch, Depeche Mode) because, frankly, if you're going from any random destination up north down to LA, you gotta take the highway that's the best, y'know? And if you're DOING Route 66, you can't -- CAN'T -- just stay in Clean Friendly Motor Lodge and/or Smarmy Hotel. You have to find the cheesiest, stupidest tourist trap motels imaginable. And, frankly, having been to numerous Indian/Cowboy/whatever themed motor lodges in my life, the Big Texan is one of the stupidest.

- Our room is "charming" and by "charming" I mean really kinda shitty but with Western crap all over it.

- The restaurant (pictured) is awesome. The steaks are enormous, the drinks are great, the waitresses are cute and say "y'all" a lot, a strolling country band of 80-year-old men play love songs at the table for you, and we watched an Italian man try to consume A FOUR AND A HALF POUND STEAK. The size of a human head. And I mean a BIG human head, not, like, Verne Troyer's head, okay?

- There is a dog area for your dog to play, but they spell it "Dawg."

- There is BOTH a giant boot AND a giant cowboy present on premises.

To sum up, we turn to Trixi: "This room is cute, but it kinda smells like old poo." We're smoking it up, though, to conceal it (YOU CAN SMOKE YOU CAN SMOKE YOU CAN SMOKE).

Tomorrow: New Mexico and Arizona, home of dessicated, run down tourist traps and some of the gorgeous scenery I've ever peeped in m'life.

(Car fans: It's a yellow Cooper Mini!)

Travel Bolg #1

The scene: Hampton Inn, Kansas City. The travel begins after a month of Trixi cleaning her house (and leaving nothing but 2 full cat boxes behind) and getting things crazily in order on both ends. We started drinking at 6 am, having a beer at every single rest stop -- shit, I'm KIDDING, people, sheesh. Actually we're just enjoying a well-deserved moment's peace in our delightful SMOKING ROOM (you can smoke here. You can smoke here. You can smoke here.) listening to the INSANELY POUNDING rain outside. Yes, we soaked in the hot tub. Yes, we enjoyed sandwiches at Bob Evans -- sadly, the restaurant, not the home of the Paramount mogul.

Note: The Twin Bing is the best candy bar ever. If you've driven through Iowa and missed it, GO BACK AND HAVE ONE.

Other note: Kum and Go realizes the humor behind their name.