Moscow, Idaho – The city of love
So many friendly people here. As soon as I first landed, I met a pair of girls outside the venue. Turned out, one grew up in my hometown and we chatted a bit. Within the first five minutes of our conversation, the other girl found it important to tell me how they were lovers in love. I was inspired. After a couple load-ins, I noticed a ping pong table in the back. The girls in love were already playing so I made my way over and challenged them to a duel. Like any drug junkie needing a fix, I had to play…. HAD TO. It’s just something that wrestles up inside of me anytime I see a ping pong table… along with my country pride… or broken genes… something that forces the competitive streak and burning winner’s drive inside of me… especially when a snotty girl with a self-confident topspin plays too seriously. I felt a little bad kicking her ass in front of her girlfriend… but my family’s honor was at stake… and she needed to be reminded that Los Angeles rules…

I walked down the street to grab some dinner at a health bar. After some polite conversation with the barista girl, I invited her to the show. She explained that the girl in the back kitchen was her lover and that they were in love… so she would not be able to attend…

Back to work. The sound man went by the name of “Vertical Jim” (because he was so tall, I guess). 7 foot something… and he informed me that my set was supposed to be from 9pm-2am. I laughed. Vertical Jim did not. So I did the best I could with what I was born with, and stretched my usual 45 minute set into four hours.

After the night was over, I tried to settle up with Vertical Jim, but there had been some miscommunication between him and the owner/promoter/booker. Vertical Jim explained he could not pay me as much as originally agreed, due to certain weekday rules (versus the weekend). I admired Vertical Jim for taking such personal ownership and being so invested in the venue’s nightly profit margin, but I needed to get paid the full and correct amount. I encouraged him to call or text the promoter to square things up and get the proper information.

25 minutes later, I went looking for Vertical Jim and found him at the bar, drinking yaeger shots with another employee. I apologized for interrupting their company meeting, and asked if he was able to get through to the promoter. He held up his cell phone and said, “Yes, here, read his text.”

Part of the text from the booker read, “So he was really that bad, huh? I thought he was the Michael Miller Crusade. Whatev.”

Vertical Jim was flustered when I asked him what that meant, stammered a bit and told me the promoter must have been drunk. There was an awkward silence and Vertical Jim’s drinking co-worker gulped and froze a nervous, quivery smile (the same face you wore when your parents walked into the kitchen as you were stealing cookies and you thought if you stood still enough, you could be invisible).

Vertical Jim sauntered over to the cash register with a giant sigh, and brought back the correct amount. I graciously thanked them both… told them it was the best night of the entire tour and how Moscow was my new favorite town in the whole country…