So here we are, speeding through some barren northern Cali farmland; my sinuses have been fucking with me (three nights huffing smokes second- and first-hand, Jurassic jungle pollen and cat dander in a Cypress Park bachelor pad will do that), my voice is only now coming back. I made some tea out of cloves, ginger on Twitter advice from the lovely Choklate; I think it helped but it reminded me of the shroom tea I drank on Orcas Island a million years ago. Also, been gargling cayenne pepper, which is not as fun as it sounds. And last night, through circumstances I'd rather not share, I had to sleep in the van. So, yeah: I'm not necessarily in the goddamned mood for this lanky freak to be touching my hair.
Don't get me wrong, Trent is a great tourmate, cheerful and conscientious; he sings little songs in the morning and puts our names in them (today was Lionel's "Say You Say Me"). Everybody took to calling Trent "Plus 1" because at nearly every stop, he's had a lovely young tender breezing with him. One made him a doll! (BonBon, van mascot.) He's like a white Billy Dee Williams in Nike shorts, with Tecate instead of Colt 45. But at the same time, the little songs get fucking old, he stares back with that cult-leader intensity, hogs all the ladies, and now he's got this creepy fucking doll. And now, he's right behind me, touching my hair (black man no-no), asking me these inane questions like a flailing, drum dominating five-year-old that just ate all the Pop Tarts. Why didn't I sit shotgun?
What are you listening to? Describe it in three words. Well, let's see here: if I had to pick three words, I'd pick "the same shit", as in THE SAME SHIT YOU ARE LISTENING TO. Right now, it is the classic Wu-Tang "Killer tape" skit, recreated to great effect here. But you should know this, being that you are directly behind me.
What do you see out the window? Nothing. Grass, fields, sky. The purple outline of mountains. Again, you could've easily handled this one yourself.
What is your favorite ghetto-tech album of all time? You need to ask Darwin that shit, he's right there next to me, watching Jar Jar Binks. I don't know, something by Mantronix.
What were you thinking about just now, before blogging in response to my blogging that we're on the same blog.
I was thinking about how nice it was not to be answering any stupid questions. I miss that thought, deeply.
What is your favorite Lionel Ritchie song? If I tell you, will you promise not to butcher it tomorrow morning, while I'm brushing my teeth in some strange kitchen? "All Night Long", or "Easy", if you're counting the Commodores; I certainly am.