More dessert...
Prickly pear cacti and deep troughs of sagebrush nestled up against sand banks littered the refuge lanes on Highway 8. Traveling east from Tucson we passed awfully close to Mexico. I could literally see the George W. Bush border fence to the south as we passed through not one, not two, but three customs and border checks. The sand dunes and tall cacti mixed with the impromptu inspections made me feel like a foreigner in my home country. It also created a whole lot of tension in the van because we were running way behind schedule and knew the Hollywood Freeway in LA was going to be locked up with impatient, cell phone texting drivers during the tail end of rush hour. And it was.
Luckily, Rantz was behind the wheel and manhandled that freeway till the bitter end. Finally,
when we arrived at the Origami Vinyl off Sunset Blvd for a short record store performance we unloaded all our gear only to find out that we had to travel up a small spiral staircase to an even smaller loft. I exnayed the whole keyboard setup (there was just no room) and just played the Casio high performance 20 key pipe organ beat box. It was fun but we were exhausted. Our bellies were void of any food and we were in LA where a slice of pie and a beer run you at least ten bucks. So after the “performance” to two people and an employee, all of whom were extremely nice, we packed up (now down the spiral staircase) and headed to Hotel Café in Hollywood for our 11:30 show. Thank God 
Baby Jesus there was a Whole Foods on the way. Fresh veggies and a sando got me through a rockin’ show at the Hotel Café. They had an upright piano on stage and it was awesome. The sound was awesome. The venue looks awesome. But the fat goose egg was not awesome. 0 dollars from the club and 0 dollars in merch sales. Did I mention that we were in L.A.? The only way that a band gets paid at the Hotel Café is if there are at least twenty five people who are there to see YOU. We had about twelve maybe a few more. No big deal though. I love playing the Hotel Cafe and the word on the street is that bands get paid much to nothing in L.A. So it’s fine by me if we didn’t make a dollar. I got to see palm trees, sunshine, my buddy Sanders and a serious drunken fight explode into the street outside of a night club near the venue. Also every woman in L.A. seems to wear the same exact dress except in different colors. I thought that was ironic for a city of fashion. But, hey, who am I to say? I wear the same thing every day and haven’t bought a new shirt in years.
Inside the Hotel Cafe
Only in L.A. do the "mamicans" have size D boobs
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