My band practices in the nave of a new but classically gothic church, surrounded by depictions of the seven holy virtues in glorious stained glass. Oh no, wait. We practice above the office of an RV sales lot in Chilliwack. There’s actually a crusty guy who lives in a trailer on site, and he likes to bug us when we’re coming and going. Last week he tried to sell us a rusty old mic stand that was missing pieces. Merrick expressed interest but then he went into the space so I was left to deal with him. On M’s behalf I suggested ten bucks (rather generous, I thought). He said that was okay, but how about a six pack of beer? Now, I have never bought a six pack of beer in my life, so the next question was pretty natural: how much does a six pack of beer cost? The answer: about ten bucks. He offered to go get it (the beer) right away.
Right on, buddy.
The story gets more boring from there. So instead I’m going to switch gears and regale you all with some recently unearthed amusing memorabilia from my youth.