July 27 2009 "bipolar skies"

Another rough sleep. Moist and sweaty this time. Always with the sweaty. Moist was a new concept. 8:30 am. I did not want to be alive. Straight for the water and several gasping gulps later I realize today. This far into the exodus. That I hate sweating. I took a seat at the back deck of the cabin and collected myself. I watched matt swim around in the lake and slowly everyone else emerged from their sleeping quarters. The sweet escape from reality, sleep, was far away even though my brain was starving for it. Matt's dad informed us that we were not to be lounging around the cabin or lake area and we should be out doing "touristy" things instead. So after some commotion we got into FDR as a collective and ventured off in search of the sleeping giant. A literal rock formation, not the terrible bible worship band. However we didn't get far. At a tourists center, we were informed that in order to get the the rocks that form the giant, we were going to have to hike 28 kilometers. No thank you. Not after sleeping on a mound for 4 hours and waking up dead. Call me a quitter. I dont give a fuck. We made a quick stop in Silver Islet for some pictures and to visit the angriest dog on the planet. Decidedly we headed straight to Thunder Bay to find the venue. Thunder Bay is small and dirty. We located the venue and loitered around for 5 hours. What to do in thunder bay?... Go to safeway 9 times, and skateboard or in my case, walk and explore. The black pirates pub opened up and we crowded in and set up shop. It seemed a mormon playing a trombone was going to be headlining tonight. Fuck yes. The bands that played were... different. The trombone mormon fellow was in a broootal sludge doom band. An angry punk band followed, then a heavy as fuck metal band. When gsts played Drew pushed his guitar head into the ceiling and water fell out on his head. This was the best moment on tour thus far. The look on his face was priceless. Gsts managed to tangle everything that could be tangled and left the stage a giant mess. Cope played, I smashed into Durell. People asked us to play more songs which was pretty cool. After chatting with some local and non local folks, we went back to the cabin snacking on boxes of triscuts*** awaiting a feast that Matt's parents were preparing for us. We are lucky. And dirty. We feasted and talked about whatever tired smelly assholes talk about then headed to bed. Oh sweet sweet honey. Reuben, however, was the fly in my honey-bed of reality escape. I love this man, but not when he passes out on the floor, gargling his mucus. Worst noise ever.

I passed out for a few sweet hours constantly waking up to the sound of Reuben "sleep with

both eyes open" Houewling.

*** Someone is responsible for pilfering an unopened box of my triscuts. I was quite upset about this. The search for the culprit continues...