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Well, the show with Lipschitz in Chicago was fantastic. Thanks to all of you who came out. We’ll let you know as soon as the disc is available online. Filthy Rich (of “Talk” fame from Nothin’ But the Bomb Period Vol. !”) surprised us by driving up from Kentucky and we all had a blast. It was great to see Ma, Pa and Sis Lipschitz at the club.

We loaded the gear into the car before going to bed, so that we could get a quick, fresh start on three hours sleep as we headed to NYC for the night.

And we did all that. P. drove first, and we stopped to caffeinate after a couple of hours as we were all exhausted from the late night finish in the windy city. That’s when it happened. Thopie (our trusted vehicle, remember?) shuddered, and then powered down. We coasted to mile marker 139.8 and called that most-relied upon service: AAA.

About an hour later, Robin, from Bill’s Auto Repair showed and loaded the car onto the tow truck. Robin was past fifty, tatooed, with scraggly white facial hair and a pear shaped body. Nice enough guy, really, though not a word was spoken until we piled into the truck on the way to Orland, Indiana (like Orlando, minus the ‘o’). Bill arrived, hoping to fix an alternater and send us on our way (home). But alas, it’s the fuel pump, and Bill’s guy will not be around until Monday, not to mention that he can’t get a part until then anyway. “So, I’ll tow you fellas to First Call Truck Service and they can do it. But they’ll overcharge and use crappy parts. I don’t recommend. I don’t.” But we had to and so we did.

But it’s not the fuel pump, or so says Ken. He thinks it must be the Ignition Module or the Coil. They have to take the parts to the AutoZone and test them and come back to tell us that those parts are just fine, too. “And fellas, we have to go home and take Sunday off and nothing can be done until Monday, when I can take it to a dealership and they can use a computer to diagnose the problem. Sorry. Shane’ll take you to a motel in the meantime.”

Figuring the really cheap place at the gas station across the street wouldn’t be so much fun, we thought we’d head to motel 8 and at least be walking distance from something interesting. The mechanics don’t know of any car rental agencies, but I ask Karrie at Motel 8 and she gets on the phone. “Hi, Enterprise? You’ll pick us up? N0?! But isn’t that the basis for your ad campaign? Well, do you have a car? Can these boys take to the east coast and leave it there? Great.”

“So how am I going to get you boys to Fort Wayne [an hour away]? I know. My brother Mitch’ll drive two hours out of his way on a Saturday night to get you guys there…” And he did. Enterprise lied. They didn’t have a car for us. But Budget did. So I drove, starting at ten at night, through the night, all the way to Hyannis, MA, stopping in New York and dropping P. Nice in Providence on the way. Boy, that was fun.

But really there is nothing to complain about. We got to listen to Tarantula A.D.’s new album “Book of Sand” which is incredible. Go listen to it and buy it and all that stuff. They are linked from the frontpage of our myspace. We listened to Gorillaz. We listened to Keb’ Mo’. It was grand. Karrie and Mitch represented with some serious stamina show, adding their names to our soon-to-be-published stamina show all-stars. And we’re back. Home. At last. You’ll hear from me soon.

Say word: Filthy Motherlovin’ Rich
Say word: Karrie and Motherlovin’ Mitch

Peace and War(m soup),

The Great Dunlap

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Hiya folks,

We’re in Chicago now, after two (somewhat grueling) days driving from Portland. We were only nearly run off the road by an enormous truck one time and we enjoyed our fifteen minutes of sleep at the Day’s Inn down the road from the University of Wyoming. REAL highlights include the Cracker Barrel in Lincoln. Nebraska and our secret weapon late-night driving music.

What, you didn’t think that I was going to tell you what our SECRET weapon is, did you?

We love Oregon. We had to tear Samuel away when it was time to leave. Fortunately he has too many ties back east to lose him to the Pacific northwest just yet. We drove from Portland out to the coast to see Cannon Beach and all of the beautiful foggy forest in between. It was gorgeous. And people in Portland were ridiculously nice and welcoming. They all thought we were from Portland, Maine which could have had something to do with it. (And that’s fine with us, really.)

The show in Portland was great. Thanks to Evil One and Sneakers for inviting us, as well as all of the fans that came out. We can’t wait to get back out there really soon. Thanks for having us.

Say word: Rose City to Windy City in just two days
Say turd: Rose City to Windy City in just two days

Alright, the secret weapon is Jacko’s Off the Wall. Can’t be tired listening to that. (Just skip “She’s Out of My Life” except the part when he cries…)

DunLAP

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that soon-to-be-defunct online magazine Splendid, reviewed and loved :Album. Review is at this site.

Say word, Lap

Okay, we finally found a place, a state really, that none of us had seen before. And it’s called Oregon. We LOVE it, the people are great, we might have to move here. But let’s rewind and re-examine what has transpired since last we spoke.

In Los Angeles we were treated to the musical stylings of The Thelonius Monk Institute, featuring the inimitable Chris Dingman, who we love. Outside of the Ramada (where jazz has been forced to these days, or as some would say: where jazz has gone to die) we encountered a man that needed to teach us about slam poetry as his way of begging for beer money (his own words, i swear.) He told us about Russell Simmons’ Def Poetry hosted by Mos Def and Saul Williams, all of which we were familiar with. He had no knowledge outside of that pop sphere, but swore that he was “that good.” And so he started, “I am the mountains that rise from the earth…I am the extension of the tension that strenghtens… I am THAT good!!!” Having plied our trade without being paid ourselves, we helped him out, but in all honesty, he was not that good. Or THAT good, even.

We left Los Angeles well fed, Daddy Wrall having had the best bagel of his life. Apparently, the jalapeno cheddar at the Silverlake Coffeeshop is so amazing that five hours into the drive north, when asked what he thought of the extra-terrestrial life descending on California Route 101, he said, “what? Oh, I was daydreaming about that bagel…” Well, he’s waited long enough to see aliens, he can wait a little longer. For those of you wondering, they are pink-ish, not so much green.

We spent a couple of nights in Santa Cruz, admiring the amazing variety of street performer in the town. Daddy Wrall taught the staff at Red to make an espresso martini, in case you swanksters are ever in town. And we saw an incredible film: The Constant Gardener. So, go see it already. Samuel P. Nice was outfitted with a new leather jacket for our shows (ladies beware) and we spent some quality time with the infinitesimally small John Flynn-York. We had a great breakfast at Cafe Brasil, where the wait staff does NOT speak Portuguese. All of my efforts to properly pronounce the dishes fell on deaf ears and perhaps served to further the continuing saga of cheese…

THE CONTINUING SAGA OF CHEESE:

What kind of cheese do you like? Swiss? Gorgonzola? American? Personally, I don’t eat cheese, but that doesn’t stop every single restaurant in the country from trying to serve it to me. At Cafe Brasil, it wasn’t on the menu, but came anyway. In Bend, OR I asked if there was cheese in the salad, they said no, but brought a parmesan covered salad anyway. In Breckenridge, I ordered my breakfast sandwich cheese-free, but received a cheesy mess. In San Francisco, I ordered the burrito, sin queso, but received mucho. All over the country, the word is out: “BRING CHEESE TO THE GREAT DUNLAP!!! WATCH HIM SQUIRM! DARE HIM TO SEND IT BACK! IF HE DOESN’T,WATCH HIM PICK THROUGH THE EDIBLE PORTIONS!!!!” An interesting dilemma that must have a point, no? I keep waiting for Aston Kutcher to come out and say “You got Punk’d!” Only, I’m not important enough that Aston would show up to my episode, and I wouldn’t sign the waiver, so they could never air it anyway…

(By the way, MTV is now known as “Punk’d”)

And on the topic of food, we went to San Francisco on our way north specifically to get a burrito from Cocina Poblana. We’re all still thinking about it. It’s that good.

And who remembers Shasta? The cola, grape or orange drink that we got on field trips in Elementary school, usually in 6 or 8 ounce cans? And who can forget Shane Strojny’s dog Shasta, that little cutterhead? Well, we do and we talked about it, right up until we found ourselves in the home of Shasta in northern California. We stocked up on the grape variety at the Winco in Redding, CA while P.Nice played Time Crisis II (he passed up Time Crisis III as it was four times as expensive). We also saw Mt. Shasta, where one can taste the grape mountainsides that melt into the carbonated Lake Shasta. We’re so obsessed with our dwindling oil supply that we’ve come to neglect our real natural resource crisis:

Shasta is running out.

The orange flavored banks of the fingers of Lake Shasta are exposed and the water was so shallow, that, though we would wade through snow and pine needles to drink at her banks, they were innaccessible to our parched lips. And alas, we must pay 25 cents a can at the Wink and Nod.

 

Sammy NOT driving.

Sammy NOT driving.

In other news, Daddy Wrall drove his first leg of the trip. We have enjoyed such wonderful weather and road conditions on our drive that he finally felt comfortable and relaxed about driving. We even chose a less highway-like highway to make the experience a little more like driving on Nantucket. Of course, five minutes into the drive we ended up in a snow storm, which he weathered briliantly (no pun intended…) Plus, we had Busta Rhymes’ “The Coming” and Wyclef’s “The Carnival” (Boy, those album titles are similar. I detect a ‘96/’97 trend) to keep us going. On the way to our next gig, Samuel exclaimed, “Boy, I hope that Bend is the Ottawa of California!” I told him I’d write that in the blog, but that Oregonians might get upset. Don’t be; he just means that he hoped you’d be cool. (You are.)

 

We arrived in Bend, Oregon for our first rainy load-in of the tour, which is, in itself, amazing. And the gig was great. Thanks Chris at the Grove for putting that together and thanks all you Oregonians for showing up. Sam, thanks for sending that article to Providence for us and we’ll say hi to Portland, ME for you when we get back there. Ups for the food, water, hot tub, Grove staff, fireplace, and great great people. We have more photos as soon as we figure out how to share them. And lastly:

Say turd: cheese that reaches fude (sic)
Say word: cheese in Speech’s music

Say turd: bad slam poetry
Say word: fads and flowy things

Say turd: Much punk’d instead of music videos
Say word Josh Und Brian’s new videos

Say turd: rumors spread like wildfire
Say word: humor helps put out fires…

With Love,

Your guide to Miss Fairchild, Behind the Music, The Great Dunlap

Well, well, well… Here we are in Los Angeles. We have two shows to recap and many people to thank. So let’s begin where we left off: SF (not Frisco, a mistake I will not repeat…)

The show up north was great. Many thanks to all of you wonderful friends and fans that made your way to the make-out room.

Say turd for the missing right channel, cymbals and keyboard Saw word for the misty night air that’ll chill you seaward (because it reminds of Nantucket.)

Chad and Ash, who I mentioned before, were amazing hosts. Thank you many many times. I think SamueL-M-N-O-P feels right comfortable driving around the city by now. Also thanks to the Flynn/York family who had us for a wonderful Indian meal after a few hours winding through Marin county. Amazingly, another guest that night, Ruku, was from Chennai, India and knew my S. Indian flute teachers.

Say word for great coincidences, we call them synchronicities.
Say turd for late (traffic/parking) incidents ; we’ve all been in the city…

The Make-Out Room show was great fun. The other bands were great to play with and the crowd was fantastic. We made our early exit on time, had a quick oil change and headed to LA with no great fanfare. (What’s up with that people?) Thopie rolled into the new city itching to see the view from the top. She huffed and she puffed and eventually she brought us all the way up while we all stood slack-jawed at the immensity of this place. Wow.

And then we played at Cinespace. It was great to see all of you out there, as well as the other bands; Remote, Huge and Holy Fuck were all great. We enjoyed your music very much.

Say word for the reunion of very first band (Full Blown Excuses!)
Say turd for nothing, really. Life is good.

Daddy Wrall is still waiting to see aliens. I think he’s starting to come to grips with the fact that out west isn’t really that differenct from back east. Samuel P. is hella sick these days and we can’t seem to keep him well. Hopefully a few days without a show will lead to rest which will, in turn, lead to recuperation. Right now, we’re off to find a star map, listen to some Sheryl Crow and buy the new Mack 10 album. Thanks everybody. We’ll see you soon.

TGD