2002-01-10 - 12:20 a.m.
It's almost 12:30am and I'm watching the film Woodstock. It brings back some serious memories from my Lollapolooza tour in '94. I have 16 cassette tapes of me ranting into a tape recorder, during that tour. I still haven't listened to them. Once I get some digital editing equipment, I'll buckle down and put the highlights to disc. Every once in a while, I'll pop one in and listen for a minute. One time I stuck one in and the first thing that came out was my voice saying, "I feel like I've just eaten a huge attitude sandwich." In Dallas, on the second day of the tour, I went to the port-a-john to "drop the kids off at the pool" (jeez, I'm quoting my own record here). Anyway, there I was, sitting in a stinking box, copping a squat in about 102 degree heat and suddenly the sounds of two people locked in amorous embrace emanated from the shitter next door. Yes friends, there were two people fucking in a hot, malodorous crapper right next to me. I sat there, with a stupid grin on my face and that awful other people's piss, turds and sickly sweet chemical smell wafting in my nostrils and burning my eyes, wondering how the hell they could pull it off (if you'll pardon the pun.) I mean, I've fucked in some strange places, even on that tour, but you've got to be seriously out of control horny or really get off on foul smells to be able to climax in a stifling, Cool Hand Luke - prison box port-a-john. It wasn't until I got out of there that I realized I forgot to record the "happening" that had just spontaneously taken place during my morning constitutional. I could have done a Howard Cosell running commentary. All this from watching Woodstock. Glad I didn't take the brown acid.
