April 1st, 2004
When Jenny and I arrived in FL, it was like being dropped into a safari out of a Russian war. We took a train to the baggage claim, which seemed necessary only in order to introduce me to palm trees again. I didn't draw offense at this. Mor, the master promoter of FL met us at the curb, and we were off to lie around until the show so I could get nervous. Up until we started watching tv, I was only nervous that I would never find the book I had intended to bring with me. But there was nothing to do until showtime, so I brooded. I hadn't exactly executed the set flawlessly while rehearsing in my living room for Lumas, who offered no constructive criticism and no applause. In fact, he seemed almost annoyed at my incredibly dynamic delivery. It must've seemed odd to him though, since he could only hear me yelling or falsetto singing a cappella (the music was only in my in-ear monitors). The first show was exactly what I wanted it to be. There were maybe 25 people in the room (?), DJ Stranger and X (who shared the bill) were incredibly respectful and kind to me, and the sound guy was also cool. My equipment situation fell right into place - I managed to make everything 100% self-contained. The sound guy had only to move one slider to mix me, because I mixed the music, keyboard, and two mics myself on stage. It's nice with the in-ear monitors. You can't really gauge the audience reaction, so you're forced to just try and perform your best and move along quickly, which works for me. Mostly I was terrified at forgetting the lyrics to 90 East, which I'd never really memorized. Strange things happened. I didn't really forget any lyrics that I was worried about. But my mouth was betraying me at points - like for I'm Not Really a Rapper, I completely ran out of saliva. Completely. Like I've never been this dry. My lips were sticking to my teeth, and I had this rabbit/squirrel mouth look going on, and my fastraps couldn't get through the wreckage. I've been rapping for 19 years, and that's never happened to me. I couldn't stop and get water because I didn't want to miss any of the verses. And my mouth would rearrange some words like I was dyslexic. Instead of saying "Oil, vinegar, water, and dressing mix" I'd say "Oil, vinar, watiger, and dressing mix." And I'd forget half of the simplest lines that I'd never had a problem. These are all side effects of performance anxiety that I'd never experienced. So that was fun. But all in all I was pleased with the performance (though I haven't watched the video yet, which Jenny managed to do while selling gobs of CDs), and it perfectly served as a warm up night for my first night with Grand Buffet and Bleu Bird, the seasoned veterans of rock rap.

April 2nd 2004
Played by the pool and did laundry (yeah, I started the tour with a bag of dirty clothes). We slothed around most of the day until the Grand Buffets arrived. At 8 we all jumped in Mor's van and headed out for Gainesville. What a strange thing, leaving for a show so late. When you play with just a CD player I suppose that's the procedure. On the way we embarked on our timeless discussion (the same one we have every time we hang, Jacks/Grunge and I) - must one find value in crappy art? I always come at it from the elitist tip, and Jackson from the well-educated hippy angle. My thing is, why waste time listening to Coldplay, if you can have Radiohead? I'm not saying the two are identical, I'm saying they're in the same ballpark and one has way more expressive and convincing layers, the other uses wide girthed lyrics and melodies that are pleasantly familiar. I'm saying why pay to see Hellboy when there is a movie like Batman (the first one)? This conversation always morphs into how I don't think it's ok to dismiss Anthony Kiedis' ape-like persona/lyrics because "that's the Peps!" I think the fact is that everyone else in the band is so good that they would be much better with someone capable of more than a Dr. Seuss rhyme scheme. I always feel like a shmuck in this conversation because I get backed into the elitist roll when truly I think I'm over that. I just suffer from this weird sense of urgency in all things - like there's no time to listen to Nickelback, because we're going to die soon enough and therefore my time is better spent listening to Self or Cornelius (if I'm in the mood for pop).
The show was fun... until I played. I sort of crumbled in the middle of Tarpit, which had never been a problem until Gainesville. I felt like I was muffled to the audience or something, separated by foggy glass or something. Where the in ear monitors had provided shelter the night before, now they obstructing my vision, figuratively speaking. I think all around I just was off balance due to our late arrival and wanting to impress my colleagues. It weird to perform, knowing that this comic colossus is going to bat cleanup. Made me very straight faced and not funny. I enjoyed both Bleu Bird's set and Grand Buffet's set quite a bit. They cheered me up.

April 3rd 2004
The show at the Social was magnanimous! What luck to be on one of the biggest bills to hit Orlando in years. The Nature Kids are a legend there, and they've been broken up for several years. They reunited to play this benefit for Mor, who the feds were trying to expel from this good land. The Spitvalves, Gargamel, my boys One Drop, and Grand Buffet also played. I was definitely the odd man out stylistically, but all the bands were familiar with Grüvis Malt and treated me with more respect and comradery than I deserved. I played my favorite set of the tour, limited glitches. One Drop was fantastic - very powerful new material. And Grand Buffet delivered what I deemed to be their best and worst show that I've ever seen. Grunge was so drunk that he spent most of the time yelling profanity at Jackson and trying to rip his wife beater off. They did a version of In The Name of Love over the Ghostbusters theme, a pairing that no one would suspect could work so well. Nature Kids were a phenomenon unto themselves. Pot-bellied trucker-looking Troy naked and thrusting unsheathed genitals to the rap metal beats. I just stared, but Orlando was like, "yeah and?"

April 4th-5th 2004
The whole posse went out to see Hellboy. The movie was horrible. Complete waste of money. I refrained from kicking up the elitist conversation because I just wanted to forget the whole ordeal as soon as possible, and we went home to eat a huge fantabulous meal that our hostess Heather and her sister prepared for the hordes. We watched too much TV, then stayed up trying to think of something witty to do. Grunge and I spent an hour trying to hook up the DVD player while Jackson marveled at the 80s videos on VH1 at 4am. On Monday, almost as a result of the butchery she enacted upon my lovely locks with a faulty set of clippers, Mor and I drove Jenny to the airport. Later that night I performed one last show at the Backbooth for the electronica night. It was a "throwaway" show, but I somehow ended up headlining, and getting an encore (for the 15 or so people left in the room). I made a looser set, I took out the heavy stuff, and put in Terminals, which worked fine, despite having never been rehearsed. I also beatboxed to kill time. Stupid stupid.