Day 8

The rest of Day Seven was pretty basic. Eating, napping, taking care of personal business, calling the insurance company, the credit card company, the rental place, etc. We ate at a surprisingly great place called Buona Beef, and afterwards, Curt, Joe, and I hit up Hooters for some beers to round out the night. Yes Hooters. It was the closest bar to our hotel, so there you have it. It was also the perfect proving ground for my new look. Tana our bartender liked it. She agreed with a friend of mine who claimed they would LOVE this look in Iowa because it makes me look exotic. That and the fact that I’ve seen the ocean are supposed to make me irresistible to the ladies. It all sounds great. On Paper. Communism sounded great on paper.

I woke up this morning to a phone call. It was my auto insurance company, USAA. They decided to cover the damage done to our van, minus my $500 deductible. This is great news. And while I was on the phone with Lovely Rita, Insurance Adjuster, the Ford dealership in Naperville called to say the van was ready. So Joe and I high-tailed it out there and picked up the van, which surprisingly was fixed but still filled with glass. Amazing. We were in a hurry, so instead of driving back to Naperville, we found a self service car wash and vacuumed the van thoroughly. We sucked enough glass out of there to make a small window ourselves. While I worked, Joe called the dealership just to let them know that they suck, a move which I appreciate greatly.

If I may, I would like to take a moment to praise Joe. He was there every step of the way with this van issue. Dude’s got his shit together. He has also taken the van loading torch from me, something that simultaneously makes me sad and happy. For 12 years I was the guy who one evening had more people watching him load the van than had watched his band perform. But I was also the guy who was the last line of defense against losing something, and the way I’ve been losing shit, it’s good that I don’t have that responsibility anymore. So on the one hand I feel like an old horse put out to pasture, and on the other I feel like I deserve the rest.

We are on our way to Ottumwa, IA, home of Radar O’Reilly. Iowa itself is also home of the Kum & Go convenience store chain, so it’s time to stock up on lighters. Tonight we play a venue called Flipside, a tattoo parlor-slash-performing arts space. I adore the DIY aesthetic, the non-traditional performing spaces, but sometimes I wonder if the band we’re touring with even tried bars! No matter, this is going to be a load of fun, and without The Story Changes, this tour would really really suck. They’re the nicest guys ever, and they work harder than any band I know. Also, their music is great. It’s an honor to be on tour with them, and we owe them everything.

While I’m writing in the van, three hours from Ottumwa, I want to bring something up. We’ve been through our share of states so far, and in every state through which we have driven, we have encountered some road construction. Each state, or maybe it’s the federal government, but someone has gone out of their way to point out that the funding for the construction came from the ARRA, a bill passed by President Obama back in March. So for those of you out there who lean towards dissing our president for shelling out taxpayer money to improve infrastructure and create or save jobs, suck on it, and when I argue with you about the value of a social safety net, just know that I have more first-hand evidence of the good it’s doing. So watch out.

Also, before I forget, I have a note for Chuck Klosterman. Shut up, man. Dammit. I’m reading Killing Yourself to Live, and I’m roughly 59% through it. I feel like it would be rude to not finish, but holy crap, I DON’T CARE. You’re not that funny. Your life isn’t that interesting. Yes, you have some great insight, I’ve enjoyed much of your writing in magazine form, but I’m having a visceral reaction to this book. I don’t care about the women you fell in love with as if you begin to grasp the concept. I don’t care about your internal dialog. I don’t care about your Sherman’s March-esque romp across America to write about something that is so subjective and ultimately meaningless that even YOU can’t bring yourself to come through on it. I will finish your book, but it had better stop sucking AND SOON.