06-07-98 Day off. Austin, TX.

The motel we're booked into for the day off has a sign shaped like a giant phallus. There's no other way to describe it. A giant erect penis towering into the sky. The caption below it reads: "SO NEAR YET SO FAR OUT". Welcome to Austin boys.

Another day off. Well, a semi day. I get up at 1.00pm and we're leaving at 11.00pm so that's not so bad. I just wish we had a gig. We could've driven to Albilene where we are apparently 'town heroes' and done a show, for free, anything, JUST LET US PLAY! Texas is flag crazy. There are massive state flags flying from every car dealership and office block. American flags adorn the few poles that are left. Flagland. Why is that? Does everyone in Texas have a really bad memory?: "What state are we in? Damn it I know this one, don't tell me . . . oh look! Texas?"

If they saved all the money they spend on flags they could probably feed the homeless. Just a thought. Today is a good day off (did I just say that?) we hook up with some old friends we haven't seen in person since 1994. Heather and Mary. They take us to their house, feed us delicious vegetarian food, let us use their hot tub and swimming pool and then give us a ride back to the dolphin. Now that's Southern hospitality. Texas is the most fucked up loony state in America but the people are the nicest and most accommodating. Go figure. We kiss them goodbye and hit the road for El Paso. 11 hour drive. Every single person I've told that we're playing in El Paso has a different opinion:

"It's the armpit of Texas."
"Why are you playing there?"
"El Paso sucks."
"I fucking hate El Paso."
"Can't you cancel that one?"
"Good luck, you're gonna need it."

All the way down there I keep an eye out for Mr Kafka on the motorway. I look at the drivers in all the vehicles but I can't see him. Maybe he's flying down? I figure he's stalking us like a doom bounty hunter. He waits for his perfect opportunity and then he strikes, releasing his doom engine.

Every single person I've met so far has told me how shit El Paso is going to be. Kafka must be having a field day, wringing his hands in anticipation. He's probably drafted in extra help. A legion of little men with hammers are waiting at the gig in El Paso. All of them waving a little photograph of me in their hand. "There he is - GET HIM!"