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On the way to work this morning, the Shuffle gave me this:

That bass is the perfect sound for walking to work on an overcast autumn morning.

Yesterday it was The Briefs, today it was the Overton Berry Trio. The Shuffle must be in a local mood.

We had to get on the road though. There was whining from that member of our group who now has a tumblr devoted to his trademark intoxicated ridiculousness (of which I've now seen epic examples of. "Now get in the fucking van," I quoted for the tenth time this trip; it's a snippet of Jeff Goldblum dialogue from Deep Cover that's in a great De La song.

Crossing the bridge as the sun and the water were freaking each other off fantastically, iPhone selecta yours truly threw this on, one of my very favorite Womack tracks. I love when he starts involving the "little engineer" in the song on the third verse, or just starts talking about whatever like he always does. It was a hit in this van. A night off in beautiful Winnamucca, NV awaits us; tomorrow, a show in that very sexy and tolerant city of Boise, ID. Later.

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I am sitting behind Larry Mizell in a van. We are driving from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Mad Rad:Mash Hall mobile to next show. I-5 N. Window vision is highway conveyer belt. Buffalo Madonna dropped a chicken sandwich in the van a couple nights ago. The van smells like chicken sandwich. And Venice Beach.

I have been staring at Larry's hair for a long time now. I see faces. It's like being at the laser dome, only different. Larry has amazing hair. Inside Larry's hair is a planet of hip hop data, acumen, and insight. If I was to cut off a curl and eat it, I would turn into Wikipedia. I am now going to play with Larry's hair. And touch him on the right shoulder.

Larry, I can't believe we are in the very same van, ON THE VERY SAME BLOG. I am blogging about you right now. This is a ripple in time and space and Taco Bell. What are you listening to? Describe it in three words. What do you see out the window? What is your favorite ghetto-tech album of all time. What were you thinking about just now, before blogging in response to my blogging that we're on the same blog. What is your favorite Lionel Ritchie song?

• From Their Flying Lives

There was a problem at the show in Las Vegas. A disagreement? Misunderstanding? Words were spoken. Darwin had started DJ’ing, and apparently it “wasn’t hip hop enough” for the house DJ. So Darwin cut the track and went with the Chris Brown song “Look at Me Now” featuring Busta Ryhmes and Lil Wayne. That wasn’t hip hop enough either. Or maybe it was too hip hop. The promoter of the show, (Vanilla Ice white guy in dreads who was a “rapper”) had a problem with the Chris Brown. More words were spoken. The people at the club were, how you say, “Being complete dickheads.” So we bolted. No show was played. Sometimes you have to make that call.

Vegas is active. Radjaw fell in a lake at the Bellagio (with his phone), P Smoov got a concussion, Buffalo and Darwin rode mechanical bulls. There were 136 oz frozen drinks called The Scorpion Bowl. Radjaw later put his phone in a bag of rice to whisk the moisture out. In casinos, 85 year-olds attached themselves to slot machines. Vegas sex workers work. Vampires are in. Cover bands play Barry Manilow into the Eagles into Guns n Roses with head set mics and pony-tails. At one point we were walking around trying to find a buffet in the broad day heat of early afternoon. Buffalo says being in Las Vegas is like bouncing around in a pinball machine trying to get the high score. Larry Mizell and djBlesOne from Mash Hall are here, saving all. Don’t Talk to the Cops (their other thing) is hopping with cuts. Larry is the Speaker of the House, his mind is a Rolodex of info, facts, and knowhow. And no one this side of the Mississippi puts down better upright Bboy dance work than Bles. His collection of moves and footwork is a regal gangly hurricane mirage.

Back to van world, Biggie Smalls Ready to Die is the travelling musical companion, coating curves in the road, flattening the land, a juggernaut un-fraught. Biggie-beats are funk based blastings.”Bullets heat seaking.” Even dollops of cadent scroll-words. Rhymes cut before and after beats, knot tied, moat-meaty throated.

Larry is reading Occult America by Mitch Horowitz. “The secret history of how mysticism shaped our nation.” He could be starting a cult. I ask if it has anything to do with Whitney Houston. He says no.

Darwin pees in a Gatorade bottle. *Desert Mist* Gatorade bottles make for good pee receptacles. But during the fill phase, there is always the, “Oh my God what if I have more pee than the allotted bottle can hold?” Cause pinching off ain’t fun.

((See Pictorials After Jump.))

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