In the Hubs of Hades

Wow! We hit what must have been record heat in Chico, CA when we rolled in to town for a show at LaSalle’s. It was 108 degrees and drippingly humid. We had just come from Arcata and Crescent City where it was somewhat chilly from the ocean and heavy marine layer (fog). Chico and probably most of the Central Valley were Hotter Than the Hubs of Hades! We played a three hour show outside in the heat, and when we were done we were drenched with sweat. Every move felt like we were neck high in molasses. We packed up and left immediately for Ocean Beach on the west side of San Francisco where we could finally get some sleep at 5 AM.

Speaking of Hades, have you ever seen that Far Side cartoon where the devil is leading a man to a room full of kids with banjos in their hands? The devil says, “This is your room, Maestro.” Let me tell you what my room would contain should I ever find my way to the Hubs of Hades: Persons there who incessantly talk with no conversation or listening skills, where there is no other place for me to go, no excuses for me to make to leave. Yes, this phobia of being trapped in a never-ending talking-AT extends back to my childhood when my grandmother would just chat away for what felt like an eternity. Don’t get me wrong, I love good conversation and really enjoy talking WITH others. But if you come talking AT me, you'll see my face take on a peculiar schrunched up look that is half irritation and half flashback. No offense but that's your cue -- whatever lame excuse comes out of my mouth, please accept it so I can get the hell out of Hades!