We cross into Texas listening to a live bootleg of Rush (Toronto, 1986). An hour ago we stopped to look at the stars. No cars on the two-lane blacktop of interstate 84...i could easily see the red glare of Betelguese on the left shoulder of Orion and the blue-white cast of Rigel burning at his right foot. We're headed east into the big state.

Route 84, going south. mid state Texas. We're listening to another live bootleg...this time country singer Holly Dunn (Calaveras Co. Fairgrounds, CA, 1995),

A painter works on a platform 4 feet up the wall of the club. inspired, maybe, by our performance he paints a large canvas with a likeness of a frog on a lily pad. At the end of the show he sold it to an audience member for 200 bucks. 280 people see The Mermen on a Tuesday. Before the show I take a long, cold walk around Austin, past the 6th St. scene and up to the state capitol. "Largest in the country...larger than the US Capitol in Washington, DC." We spend the night with the wonderfully hospitable Steve Sheinkin and Sarah Simpson. Breakfast is at Dan Rather's favorite spot. But the food is bad. Next door is the incredible Tesoros Trading Company. A store of imported knick-knacks from everywhere. The owner has impeccable taste and we can't stop ourselves from overspending on cool stuff.

271 people come to see The Mermen in Houston! We hear radio ads for our show on the way in to town. On arrival the right trailer tire goes flat. Our crack road crew has it repaired and gets soundcheck done at the same time. Logistical genius! Thank God for Roz, Mark and Leslie. Experimenting with a distortion bass sound. Separate amp setups for clean and dirty. More gear on stage. We get a great reception. I walk in downtown Houston. It's really depressing. Big buildings and closed stores. Panhandlers on every corner but I'm from San Francisco, the panhandling capitol of America, and I'm used to it. I tell the audience that we're looking for a place to spend the night and after the show Mike, Kari and Eric approach us and offer their home in west Houston. In the morning they bring us donuts and coffee in a blissful suburban setting.

The owner changes the deal. He cuts the pay in half and tells us we gotta pay for all our beer and wants 20% of whatever tshirts and cd's we sell. We momentarily consider not playing but then decide that it is better to do the show thereby showing the guy up. We negotiate to keep all our merchandise money. We make three times as much on that as we do on the performance fee. haha! At Cafe Brazil, across the street, it is our waiter's first day and he gives us the ultimate conspiracy story of fibonocci equations, pyramids, earth's pole shift and illuminati stuff flying all over the place. The club is a big empty room. It's a small but appreciative audience. At the 24hr Doughnut Lady the Boss herself takes Roz's donut, throws it away and gives us two whole boxes! I think she thinks were famous. It's the place where all the Dallas misfits go. I am reminded of a cast party at High School.. It's a safe environment for all to be and be seen. 13 hours to New Orleans. I take 600 mg of codeine in the pouri

Practically in a coma, a sack of flesh occupying a bench seat, I arrive in New Orleans with the band, at Sam the painter's, where we're supposed to stay with him but he is the architypical painter...no shower, no hot water...the crew says let's go and Sam is sorrry about it. I tell him it's no big deal, we'll see him later at the club. We check in to a hotel on St Charles, above the streetcars, and stay for three days in which I eat way too much fried food. The club is great in every respect. Backstage area w/bath...beer for us...dinner home-cooked...good stage, good sound system...they like the music...me and one of the techs talk about our secret love of art-rock. About 50 people show up in a blinding thunderstorm. But Robert McFarline, a spanish teacher, enthusiatically compres us to Dick Dale(but in a complimentary way), so it's not a complete waste of time. We eat gumbo and walk around the quarter.

Sleep late. Another flat tire(same one) makes wait on the street with the trailer for two hours. Play in a suburb of New Orleans just north of a 24 mile bridge across Lake Pontchartain. We open for the venerable Dash Rip Rock. This turns out to be the worst gig of the tour so far. The bar has the most comprehensive delivery system for daiquiris I have ever seen. Shannon, the bartender, tells us that her eye looks the way it does because she poked it with a kitchen knife when she was four. The crowd goes mild. Nothing like playing a song and having no one react. We amuse ourselves. Shlong haircuts are out in force. A patron buys a cd and tells Leslie he's gotta get it now and put it in his car because he's gonna go get in a fight... The Times Grill, run by Callen, Angela and John, serves us an perplexingly excellent meal.

off in New Orleans, LA (Jan 28th) We do laundry, I try to ignore the superbowl, the crew gets a tour from the road mgr of Dash Rip Rock, who Leslie befriended, and get home at dawn. Drinkin' and carryin' on!

Rushing East in the gathering darkness. Rainclouds greying the rapidly fading light. Alabama from the backseat... Charmingly mannered women...gruff, distrustful men, greasy food. The first batch of regional postcards get purchased, written and sent. Roz munches bbq potato chips in the passanger seat, navigator to Mark's pilot. We're only a couple of minutes late to a radio interview. The mood is pensive.

It's Mark's Bday and we get him a watch and a Key Lime Pie from Winn Dixie mkts. It puts me in the mind of Joni Mitchell's "Refuge Of The Roads" from the album Hejira. It's raining and looks to continue for days. We do a radio interview but I'm not in the mood. The show is for about 10 people, most from the radio station. If it keeps up, I'm going to start getting used to it. I think we made 40 bucks. People keep asking us: "What are you doing here?" We can't answer. We eat catfish at the diner nearby and I wonder when my digestive system will ever forgive me. After we stop Roz plays sad music and I wonder where we are going to sleep. Money running low. The mood is grim.

We have key lime pie and Peet's coffee for breakfast. get kicked out of the econo-lodge by concerned employees..."are you staying another day?" In Oxford, AL? Yow! We stop at a mall where the food was recommended by two maids at the econolodge. Shoulda known. A walk through the cafeteria line confirms the suspicions raised by my nose on entry...there's nothing here I can eat.

we drive on through the rain and rough roads to Florida...