Jason is gone! Tensions had been rising and depression was setting in over the past couple of days, then a new twist, Jason was getting junk-sick. What that means is that the codeine he was taking was no longer doing the job in replacing his physical need for heroin. Jason started taking Percodan to keep from going into withdrawal. Well, that was it! Victor was noticeably upset and was not about to tolerate the situation anymore. Prior to learning about Jason's current physical condition, I wanted to send him home based upon how Jason's actions were contributing to this anger and subsequent deep depression I was beginning to encounter. In fact, I feel a little frustrated that I couldn't tell him to leave rather than him telling us he had to leave.

My relationship with Jason had deteriorated pretty heavily over the past few days. I'd lost so much respect for him after realizing his physical condition and how that was causing his disregard for me and the rest of the band. I don't know how I could have played another show with him. Nashville, on Friday night, was hard enough. All of this crap, coupled with the fact that I'm down to my last $20 in the world, has thrown me into an emotional nose-dive. I'd basically stopped eating from Friday night (after an after-show Krystal burger festival in the Motel 6) until Sunday night (now that's really depressed!). Even then, it was Victor paying for the Sunday night meal and everyone else buying me beer. Fortunately, a good meal, good beer and a good band will snap me out of a depression any day.

The band was this band from Athens, GA called 5-8. These guys and the Monks of Doom (another one of Victor's and Greg's previous bands, and a long story at that) did some touring together years ago. Victor saw that they were playing, so he hooked up with them in the afternoon and got us all on the guest list for the show. We ate at the restaurant upstairs from and connected to the club, Cicero's (a little Italian joint in University City, MO). We split a pretty good mid-western pizza, then went downstairs to check out the show. 5-8 is your basic 2 Gibson/punk rock band (The Buzzcocks, The Fastbacks, ...) with an interesting/sincere/funny singer guy. For some reason, I could tell from this guys on-stage presence that he wasn't originally from the south. He definitely had a NY thing about him. After the show, we all had agreed to meet at this place a couple of miles away called The Cheshire Inn.

Now here we were in the middle of St. Louis, and this place (The Cheshire Inn) is this silly huge English Tudor complex of a hotel, restaurant, and pub. We walked in to the pub and found it had this sort of English castle drawing room feel with large comfortable chairs, a big fire place and some fine cigar smoking and brandy drinking going on. Our (us, the guys in 5-8 and the Cicero's regulars) invasion into this atmosphere created quite an interesting scene. Anyway, we were all talking amongst ourselves when I finally got into a conversation with Mike, the singer/songwriter/guitarist for 5-8. After talking music/music biz stuff, I asked Mike where he was from. His response,...New York. Bingo! Then I asked him more specifically where he grew up, and he said:

Mike: Long Island

Me: Well, where on the 'Island'?

Mike: I'm from Commack/Deer Park, you know exit 52.

Me: Dude, I'm from Huntington, exit 49! (Long Island Expressway)

We then proceeded to do the whole Long Island bonding thing. He's one year older than me and went to one of LI's catholic high schools, St. Anthony's, which is in Huntington. We had some of the same haunts, including the Balcony Theater, which was about 1.5 miles from my family's house. This movie theater would always show all the rock 'n' roll movies (and related films) ever made all the time. Kids would go there on a Friday or Saturday night, get stoned out their minds while watching a movie and play video games all night. It was so bad you could even hear people taking bong hits in this place. Mike and I had a great time reminiscing/connecting about the 'Island', though it made neither one of us homesick for it in the least. It's amazing that I travel so far just to meet people I grew up next to.

After we closed the Cheshire Inn, we convinced the 5-8 guys to get a room at our hotel. Only the drummer came up to our room and stayed up with us until 5am. Tigger (the drummer dude) is real great guy with this insane memory. He apparently remembers, word for word, this 30 second conversation he had with me 3 years ago at a festival show at the 'shed' (large amphitheater) outside Atlanta. I, of course, don't recall it at all, but am blown away that he does. He recalls another conversation he had, this time with John at some obscure place and time. The guy has a fucking elephant memory! Anyway, we bs'd for a while, then when Fellini's "8 1/2" came on the TV and it was getting light out, we thought we should crash.

John and I took Jason to the airport this morning. We got there and after a clammy handshake from Jason, John escorted him into the terminal. When John returned, he actually kicked up his heels a couple of times as he exited the terminal on his way back to the van. Now this tour can really start! I think when I finish my laundry here, I'll head over to Ted Drewes' Frozen Custard for a 'Concrete', one of St. Louis' famous delicacies and one of the great things about touring. I can't wait for the show here tonight. It should be a lot of fun.

Well if you thought the last couple of days were drama, yesterday John got hit by a car! Every time I say it the whole scene flashes in my head. Here's the setup; Victor's family is originally from St. Louis. His grandfather was a pharmacist and his uncle is a recently retired pharmacist who still owns the pharmacy VK's grandfather opened, (btw Victor's dad is also a pharmacist; plenty of drugs in the family I guess) though now it's located in the STL western suburb, Creve Coure. We had decided that before hitting the road for Columbia MO, we would stop by the Krummenacher Pharmacy for a photo op. We all went in to the pharmacy to buy film, Victor for his camera and John for his Polaroid. The pharmacy didn't carry any Polaroid film so John decided to walk across the street to Walgreens where he could definitely find some. John and Brent (whom we had kidnapped, more on that later) were about to cross the street when Greg and myself were exiting the pharmacy. All of a sudden, as Greg and I walked out of the pharmacy, we saw John fly through the air and I yelled 'John's been hit by a car!' I don't know if you've ever seen a pedestrian get hit by a car, much less a friend of yours. I was in shock. Brent was standing over John in the street jumping up and down waving his arms and screaming for help. I yelled at Brent 'Don't move John, don't touch him!', but I couldn't go near them. I stood back about 30 yards and took in the whole scene. It was unbelievable! I thought it wasn't real, like it was a dream, a movie or a bad joke on John's part. I noticed the woman in the car involved on her cel-phone so I knew help was on the way. Victor walked up to John and when he saw John's blood on the road, he walked away saying 'I can't deal with this.' I don't blame him. People gathered around to calm Brent down so I knew that he was taken care of. I just paced around the scene not being able to approach John until the EMTs arrived. Three minutes later the EMTs were there and then I approached John in the street. By then his dark red blood made a somewhat large trail from his head all over the road and I was flipping out but, I wanted to make sure John was all right. He was writhing around in pain complaining about his leg. At some point, John heard my voice and asked me 'Chris, what happened?' I answered, 'John you got hit by a car, but you're still here.' I was at least glad to see he was conscious. It was time to get John on a stretcher and the EMTs enlisted my help, which I was more than happy to do. Even though I wasn't sure what to do, the EMT instructed me well and we got him onto this surf board kind of device then on to the stretcher. He was in the ambulance on his way to the hospital less than 10 minutes after the accident had occurred. I held on to Brent for a little, then there was a whole bunch of talking to the police. I then learned what exactly happened. John and Brent were trying to cross this somewhat busy road (one lane in each direction with a turning lane in between them) and John saw a small opening to get across after a van that was approaching from his left. Across the road, a woman was making a left turn out from the Walgreens parking lot and saw that same small opening, so she went for it also. Their view of each other was blocked by the passing van and they didn't see each other until it was too late. The police gathered all their info from the scene and then we headed to St. John's Mercy hospital. On the way, we were all shaking our heads at how, just at lunch not an hour before, we were talking about John's cavalier or 'cowboy' attitude, which at points was a little annoying, though I never imagined it would come to this. We got to the hospital and immediately they pulled Brent and I aside to get more information about John. Apparently, John had been asking for Brent, so I guess the hospital thought Brent was the person to get John's information from. I helped out with whatever Brent wasn't sure of, but Brent was great and handled himself very well. I noticed Victor on the phone so I figured he was disseminating the information for as much as we all knew.

Now of course, Brent had to get to Columbia. I, work horse that I am, volunteered for the job of driving him there. Brent and I had to see John first before we left. Brent went in first, then I did. John looked really bad. His face was all cut up and his left leg was completely out of whack. When the nurse tried to take his blood pressure with his right arm, John yelled about his shoulder. I was hoping there wasn't anything else wrong. I left just as the fucking cops came in to try to ask John some questions, fucking idiots! I had to get out of there. I hate hospitals!

Now to the task at hand. Getting behind the wheel was not easy, especially during rush hour, but I had to get Brent back to Poi Dog. I guess this is what I get for stealing Brent in the first place. We were having such a great time the night before. After the show and after saying goodnight to my AOL buddy that came to the show (more on that later!), I joined Brent in his traditional shot of Jagermeister, then more shots were bought and we didn't stop hanging at the club until all of Poi's equipment was loaded out, which is pretty late. We were all having such a great time and were pretty loaded. We convinced Brent to come with us to another visit to the Cheshire Inn. This was the kidnapping, though I guess as with rape, it's hard to do to the willing. When we arrived at the Cheshire Inn, there was a sign on the door that said 'Closed for renovation'. Unbelievable! We were just there the night before!! Oh well. So we stumbled back to our hotel and after another beer we all passed out with Brent all balled up in his big parka on the middle of the floor. It was a funny sight. Brent and I woke up about 4 hours later. It was 7:30am and Brent was a little freaked 'cause he needed to make sure his personal gear was loaded out of his hotel room. So still being a little high, I told Brent I'd give him a ride and he sweetened the deal by offering to hook me up with the free breakfast buffet at his hotel. I got my shoes on and we were gone. I love that lack of sleep kinda energy. We got to the hotel and it seems his roommate packed all his stuff and put it all on their bus. Excellent! So we went and scammed on the buffet, then hung out in Brent's beautiful Embassy Suite until it was time to go back and wake up the rest of our guys to go and eat again! Now, our ride to Columbia was quite a different vibe. We were trying to hide our feelings with our silly conversation, but at one point Brent started crying. I was just having a hard time dealing with traffic and fighting my post-accident skitishness/freaked outness. We did a bit of the bass player bonding thing and that was cool. I also gave Brent some producing advice, then 2 hours later, we pulled into Columbia.

The Blue Note is the site of my last King Missile gig. I was so looking forward to reclaiming it for A Great Laugh. Anyway, when we arrived, everyone in Poi whom I saw wanted to know what happened and about John's condition. Everytime I told the story, I could see John flying through the air. I had to tell the story at least 5 or 6 times, but I wanted to make sure everyone knew what had happened and that John would be OK.

From there, I faced the drive back to St. Louis alone. Columbia (and The Blue Note) is such a great place to play. We were all looking forward to playing there as well as the rest of the shows. With the expulsion of Jason and the renewed interest in the tour that the expulsion had bred, we had a great show in St. Louis at Mississippi Nights. Greg was playing like I had never heard him play before. At one point on stage, Victor and I looked at each other in amazement while listening to Greg play one of the most incredibly blistering solos we had ever heard come from any player. I think we all were psyched about the space (musically, physically and psychic-ly) left open by Jason's absence. When we got off stage we were all talking about the next few shows and beyond. I guess it was this excitement that I took to the bar. That's right, on top of everything else, I went out in St. Louis. This AOL bear-buddy of mine appeared at soundcheck. He had heard about our show (thank you Wayne!) and shocked the shit out of me by showing up. He enjoyed the show as well and so afterwards we headed for I can't remember the name, but it's the bear bar in STL. Now of course it was a Monday night, so I wasn't expecting much, but even so I had a great time. The bartender was this hot man who says he used to live in SF, but I certainly and unfortunately don't remember ever running into him at home. There were about 20 people there which for a Monday night I thought was pretty festive. While hanging and talking with my AOL buddy, I tell him this story about picking up this guy while driving around Kansas City during a day off on a KM tour (long story) and how I also picked up this same guy on a bus in SF a few months later around Folsom St. Fair time (long story). Not 5 minutes after I finish telling these stories, this guy I've been speaking of walks into this bar in STL. Incredible! I was shaking my head in disbelief when we recognized each other and started talking. He and a buddy of his were passing through STL on their way home to KC after spending their vacation traveling around. All of a sudden, there I was laughing and talking in the company of some really good looking guys. The owner of the bar was right there with his boyfriend and bought us all a round of shots. Then another guy at the bar bought a round, then my KC buddy bought a round. This was all way too much fun, especially unexpectedly so for a Monday night. I unfortunately needed to get back to the club as well as my AOL buddy having to get home to get ready for work the next day. I chatted up the bartender before I left (I had to, he's fucking gorgeous) and said goodnight to all the great folks there then...the picture grows fuzzy as this daydreaming/flashback sequence ends....

On my return to St. Louis and the hospital, I found John's wife Elinor had just arrived from SF, not even 7 hours after the accident had occurred. What an amazing woman! John is so lucky. She seemed quite disturbed by everything, as we all were, yet she was laughing and ready to take on the task of...whatever it was that she needed to do to be there for John. I was so glad to see here because I knew it would make John feel a lot better having her around.

So, now Victor, Greg and myself (boy they are just dropping like flies on this tour) headed off to spend the night at Victor's uncle's house. It's only about 3 miles away in this rather wealthy suburb of St. Louis. As we pull into this area of magnificent homes the surrealness of the day takes yet another left turn. I haven't been around these kinds of homes possibly since high school and some of my more wealthy friends from back then. At about 10pm, we pull into this semi-circle driveway in front of this beautiful red-brick-three-little-pigs-4-bedroom house and even the van seemed out of place being there, much less ourselves. Uncle Tom and Aunt Carol both greeted us and sat us down at the kitchen table. Immediately, Carol was offering to make sandwiches with the food that she had bought for us in anticipation of our arrival. I accepted gladly, since I hadn't had anything to eat since lunch. We sat and talked for about an hour, with Tom and Carol referring mostly to their children and grand-children. The surrealness of their home, hospitality, and conversation had actually helped to take us away from the events of the last 9 hours. I'm not sure, but I think they probably knew that. They then showed us to our individual bedrooms and practically begged us to raid the refrigerator during the night, which I obliged though it's not something I usually do. This morning, after a huge killer breakfast prepared by Tom and Carol, and more conversations about their kids and grand-kids, this time including photos, they sent us on our way with a shopping bag full of sandwiches and sodas to begin our trek home.

Before leaving St. Louis, we stopped at the hospital to check on John's condition, to see how Elinor was getting along and let them know that we were on our way home. John had surgery on his leg overnight. Both his left tibia and fibia had been broken clean through. They reset his leg and put pins in it. I think it's pretty amazing he doesn't have to have a cast. This afternoon he was going to have some re-constructive surgery for his face, since apparently his right cheek had also been broken. Everyone seems pretty confident about the diagnosis and procedures, so I felt John had a long road ahead of himself, but he was well on the way. Elinor spent the night sleeping in a cot next to John in the room. I found that quite remarkable. I've never heard of that happening in a hospital. It seems as though the nurses are also letting her take care of John as far as washing him and other general things such as that. I find those ideas pretty advanced for patient care-taking, but I know it's probably a much better deal for John in the long run. We all hung out for a little bit, then John had to go for his next bit of surgery so we all said our good-byes we and hit the road, homeward bound.

I know I've detailed a lot in this entry, but I wanted to depict how touring is an adventure that can take a turn at any and every moment. Of course, most days are not like the last two. However, more stuff can happen while on the road than the changing of maps on the Weather Channel. Now there's an interesting allegory of all that can be said and done when you ride on the wind, blah blah blah.

I was hoping that I wouldn't have another entry until I got home, but so much for hopes and dreams. Yesterday was a hellish day of driving. If it was not the 30 mph crosswinds, gusting higher of course, through Kansas, it was the return of snow outside of Ft. Collins, CO. All we want to do is get home and we're trying to do that as quickly as possible. When we pulled into Laramie last night around 8 PM, the snow was coming down pretty hard. We found out that I-80 was closed most of the day and was just reopened. We weren't sure what to do. Should we stop here and spend the night or push on to at least Rawlins. During our debate, the snow had stopped so I said 'Let's go for it'. I got behind the wheel and about 20 minutes into the 90 minute drive....BLOWOUT!...right rear wheel...this evening's drama begins.

This is the first time I've ever had to deal with a blowout, so I was a little scared when it happened. I got us to the side of the road without any problem. I guess it could have been worse. We were climbing this incline at the time and fortunately the road was very straight. We all got out and surveyed the damage. It was pretty bad. The tire was in shreds on the rim and the rim was definitely bent. We weren't surprised at all that the tire blew, considering the windy conditions we dealt with earlier in the day. We decided that Victor and Greg would walk back the 2 or so miles to the service station we passed at the last exit. We had to call AAA 'cause the rim on the spare was also bent, so we may need a tow. Fortunately (I guess), the blowout happened here, since we had just passed the last service station for the next 20 miles.

After about 2 hours of sitting in the van alone, wondering if I would either get creamed by some out of control 18 wheeler (every time one would pass, the whole van would shake), or blown away by wacko (I'm glad I didn't see Fargo)(fortunately it was about 20 degrees so I knew I wouldn't freeze to death right away) (Boy, Wyoming is a big lot of nuthin'!), the guys came back with the tow truck. He couldn't give us a tow because of all the weight we had in the van, but he did help us put on the spare. Since we were parked on an incline, he had to jack up the van using his lift, which means we probably wouldn't have been able to change the tire without him. He got us on our way and even followed us back to the service station to make sure the spare was going to be OK. We checked the air pressure, then drove as carefully as possible the 20 miles back to Laramie with our fingers crossed that the spare would hold out. We made it back to the Motel 6 and exhaled. This morning we went into beautiful downtown Laramie and bought 2 new tires and rims, cost: $225, which was actually less than I thought it would be.

Even before we left SF, we anticipated that we would have some problem with the van, so I guess this was it (I hope!). The van does have a lot of mileage on it,... a lot! I think it was purchased during CVB days, which was at least 8 years ago. Let's hope there are no more dramas the rest of the trip. I don't know how much more of this shit I can deal with.

This tour will just not end without yet another little drama. Last night, when we pulled into another one of my favorite fleabags in the middle of nowhere (3rd time for this one), Greg looked around the van and couldn't find the shopping bag that he had put the Poi CDs in (the guys in the band gave us a whole bunch when we said goodbye to them in Lawrence, KS). This was the same shopping bag that contained the sandwiches, chips and fruit that Victor's aunt Carol made for us back in St. Louis. Apparently what happened when we stopped in Wendover, NV a couple of hours ago to gas up was:

A) I went to the bathroom/phone

B) Greg went in the store to buy something

C) Victor filled up the tank and did a little cleaning

all of which was pretty normal for a stop. The problem was that Victor did not know that Greg had put the CDs in that bag. We were supposed to tell him, but we hadn't done so yet. When Victor was looking through the van, all he saw was a bunch of rotting fruit, so he just chucked the whole bag.

When we all had realized what had happened here...well, I don't know about them, but I lost it. I snapped. I went into the motel room, got undressed, got under the covers and started crying. I had just finished driving us from Wendover to here, through 2 hours of scattered snow squalls and extreme darkness on I-80, much less all the other shit that we've gone through just to get us home, so when I get there I can listen to this beautiful music and at least relive some of the good feelings of this tour. This was also a special limited edition packaging of Pomegranate, and one of the most beautiful CD packages I've ever seen in my entire life. The whole thing just oozes love so hard, and Victor just threw it away to rot in some landfill in nowhere Nevada. It wasn't his fault completely. He didn't know they were there, and I always could have moved them to prevent such an incident from occurring.

I guess this is all part of our road weariness and it's probably better we lost the CDs than say control of the van while driving, but this still hurts so much. My soul has taken quite a beating on this tour. I was lying in bed last night thinking about giving it all up, even just for a certain period of time. After some sleep, I'm still not so sure if I'll put it down for how long, but I know I wont give up the dream. I've gone too far not to....I don't know...I really want....we'll see.

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It's been quite a while since we've returned home, and we're all still kinda struggling (from what I know) to get back on our feet, literally and otherwise. For me, there hasn't been much music stuff going on, and mostly I've just been working to pay my tour phone bill, and catch up on other debts too.

Several times throughout my personal history, I have dealt with certain incidents not unlike the ones of this tour (as I'm sure we all have), though I think the severity and frequency has been a little less. These incidents always seem to make me realize that you can't really completely plan for anything, and that maybe the best way to approach life (or most anything for that matter), is just to approach it, without any other parameters or expectations, and just see what happens. I don't know, but I'm still trying to approach life again, and I'm getting closer everyday. I'll be back in it soon enough.

Thanks for taking the time to get this far. I appreciate it. Take care.

Chris Xefos 7/1/96 San Francisco, CA (Home!)

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