April 20th, 2004.

Ah, the infamous 4.20. There’s a party here tonight that I’m eager to miss.

We went and wandered around South Side Pittsburgh, window shopping and snacking, grocery shopping and snacking, and venue shopping and sushi slurping. A good day in all – beautiful outside, and I really Love walking around this city. I Love the bizarre way it’s built.

Up.

Finally got a response from the Oberlin Revue – the Oberlin student newspaper… Saturday looks to be pretty exciting. I like when we get a schedule that states that “all performances involving fire will take place on the stone walk”. That’s just cool. I wish OUR performance involved fire.

Sigh.

While wandering around, a car back-fired twice, and though far louder than most guns, it startled the Hell out of me and made my shoulder-blades itch, reminding me high school.

Later, we found a shop that sold any number of random scents and soaps and incenses… and I turned out to be very, very allergic to it, despite the fact that theĀ smell was sooo similar to one of my favourite ex-girlfriends… it was this REALLY weird mix of sensations – something along the lines of “ooh!” (visually), then the scent kicked in and I got immediately REALLY horny, and then I sneezed. Sigh.

An unidentified creature. A beast. A weremole. Or perhaps a groundhog.
An unidentified creature. A beast. A weremole. Or perhaps a groundhog.

I don’t know what to think about 4.20. I’ve never been around people who smoke on April 20th before, and though I’ve always known about National Pot Day, or whatever else it may be called, I’ve never felt it’s presence quite this heavily before. It was odd wandering around Pittsburgh and realizing that people were running back and forth from place to place visiting friends and going on about their plans for the evening. What kind of pot, how it was going to be smoked, et cetera – and then watching guys talk about the clothes they bought. Metrosexual? Sort of…

Weird combination of stuff. So, Heather and I watch Will & Grace while everyone else is out on the porch celebrating 4.20. Heather seems to think I’m just naive.

A beaaayoootiful Diva chair.
A beaaayoootiful Diva chair.
Lillian, the cat, attacking my pants in an antique and stuff shop.
Lillian, the cat, attacking my pants in an antique and stuff shop.
Skitz, Sarah's cat. Too many damn cats. I wish I could blame this on Heather... but I keep...snapping... the pictures.
Skitz, Sarah’s cat. Too many damn cats. I wish I could blame this on Heather… but I keep…snapping… the pictures.
The Aspinwall Grille, in Aspinwall, Pennsylvania - Lives up to it's slogan.
The Aspinwall Grille, in Aspinwall, Pennsylvania – Lives up to it’s slogan.

My mom would’ve Loved the bar we played at last night. She would’ve Loved the house band. The Aspinwall Grille has something that should be hugely known – a dazzling group of musicians that come in and jam every Tuesday… a group that would leave the Blues Brothers breathless.

A huge variety of covers, and over the course of the night, three horn players eventually filter in, one by one. I Loved watching the sax player…. and then maybe an hour in another guy saunters in to much hail and greeting, and unpacks some unidentifiable horn, and then later still, another guy walks in and unpacks a big silver trumpet.

Three piece horn section. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that Live before, outside of high school jazz groups or ska bands.

It was… orgasmic.

The fact that they were blown away by US has NOTHING to do with the fact that we were blown away by THEM.

The Aspinwall horn section. I cropped the photo so you couldn't see the guy on the right giving the deadly "why the FUCK are you taking my picture" look. The guy in the middle is a fireman, and runs another open jam on Thursdays that we're going to go check out... er... on Thursday. I really can't even express what a good time we had. Really, why this place isn't packed every Tuesday is a mystery to me. I was pretty skeptical when the website advertised it as "the best-kept secret in Pittsburgh"... but I'm beginning to think it's true. Plus or minus the chupacabras in the sewers.
The Aspinwall horn section. I cropped the photo so you couldn’t see the guy on the right giving the deadly “why the FUCK are you taking my picture” look. The guy in the middle is a fireman, and runs another open jam on Thursdays that we’re going to go check out… er… on Thursday. I really can’t even express what a good time we had. Really, why this place isn’t packed every Tuesday is a mystery to me. I was pretty skeptical when the website advertised it as “the best-kept secret in Pittsburgh”… but I’m beginning to think it’s true. Plus or minus the chupacabras in the sewers.
Dave, who may or may not have been one of the owners of the Aspinwall Grille,is one of the hosts of their open stage, as well as an entertainment agent in the area AND a pretty good singer and excellent stage performer. Or at least a ham.
Dave, who may or may not have been one of the owners of the Aspinwall Grille,is one of the hosts of their open stage, as well as an entertainment agent in the area AND a pretty good singer and excellent stage performer. Or at least a ham.
The Aspinwall Grille is next door to the "Artsy-Tartsy Pastry and Art Gallery". Surely worth notice
The Aspinwall Grille is next door to the “Artsy-Tartsy Pastry and Art Gallery”. Surely worth notice.

HOLY SHIT!!!! Somewhere between Pittsburgh and California, we saw a WILD TURKEY!!!! I’ve never seen a turkey before. Damn big ass bird. When Heather started yelling “CREATURE!!! CREATURE!!!” I thought she was pointing out another were-mole. Wow, a wild turkey.


So, we’re coming back from one of our better nights ever. We’re actually worrying about running out of CDs. We sold a good number last night, and eleven tonight, and … well, I guess we’ve been under-estimating outselves or something. Anywho, looks like we’ll have to hope that Sharif can pick some up on the way to Ohio.

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