Last weekend we had the pleasure of playing
twice in one day, in the company of splendid
support. The adventure started innocently enough
in a gorgeous private home in the foothills of Tucson
and ended with much debauchery in a little mountain
town called Bisbee. First we played a celebratory
combined birthday party in the prettiest venue we've
played yet. It was the private home of landscape
architect, Joe Prchal and it was all in the name of
Steve Prchal, visiting from his Costa Rican butterfly
farm, and Julie Dorley, staunch supporter of
Tumbledown House from here to Boston and
most places in between. We were treated to some
great lunch, delicious sangria (perfect for the warm
day), and a very friendly, supportive crowd. Perfect
ingredients for a show.



Then we packed up and drove south to Bisbee, a
favorite spot of ours although we've only had the
chance to visit once before. Bisbee is the kind of place
that's big on theme parties and costumes (lucky for us).
The whole town might even rally for a Pajama Day and
everyone will go to work in their sleepwear and robes,
and this might be an average Thursday. They just like it.
That's what we heard anyway. It's a town full of quirky
artists, poets, musicians and hippies...and they're not
shy about drinking. It's hard to offend people down
there. And it's easy to fall in love.



So when Karyn was on board for a speakeasy-
themed party at her bar, Hot Licks, we were
excited to see if the costume-happy rumors
were true. Indeed they were. Hot Licks was
decorated to the nines, complete with cigarette
girls, handmade gin stills, old fashioned signs,
and a gorgeous staff that not only looked fabulous
but seemed far from disgruntled about having to dress up.




Our drinks were free, the bar was slammed, the sound man was
accommodating and the crowd was hot. In the world of music,
this is pretty much nirvana. Just when I thought it couldn't get
any better, we happily realized Bisbee is also big on audience
participation. Praise Jeebus. We handed out 24 kazoos (always
give 'em somethin' for free) and Bisbee joined in with a rousing,
if not patchy rendition of Cash's "Ring of Fire" (we'd never played
it before. Bisbee was forgiving).





Yep, those are fake mustaches
made of real hair on real women dressed as men.
Fabulous.



This crowd came all the way from Tucson
to join in the fun and it was great to have
some familiar faces in the crowd. Once we
were sufficiently sweat-soaked, feathered,
and drunk, we headed over to St. Elmo's
down the way (since Bisbee is built directly
into the sides of mountains, everything is
down or up a steep ramp or stairs from the
next thing. I don't think even Mormons could
pass for sober when navigating these alleys).
St. Elmo's is the kind of place where 4 out of
5 dreams go to die. So I refrained from posting
those pictures.

By morning we were ready for some hang-over
cures. Turns out the best place to relieve the devil's
symptoms is Dot's Diner.





Dot's (max. occupancy: 10) is connected to
The Shady Dell, whose proprietors were in
attendance the night before. We got some greasy
breakfast in us, complete with a perfect strawberry
shake, and then we strolled around the Dell, which
is a motel of sorts made up of antique trailers, a
bus, and a boat, all of which hold true-to-the-era
records, record players, tvs, magazines, board
games, etc. that you can enjoy throughout your
night's stay. It wasn't last night's booze talking;
I fell deeply in love with this place and promised
myself it would be mine someday, if only for a night.






We just can't seem to have a shitty time in Bisbee.
And we have the makings for a shitty time, believe me.
So thank you, Bisbee. We'll see you again at Hot Licks
on April 30th for our west coast tour kick-off!

Since leaving Bozeman, we've met a lot of cats out there.
Cats that are just doin' what they're doin', not because
they have to and not because they were asked to, but
strictly because neither of those two things apply to
them. These cats shared their homes with us, and
in some cases their beds, sofas, and kitchens.







Some were very welcoming. Some were pretty neutral, I
think. And some were scared shitless of us and refused
to surface for pictures. But most were welcoming.
And most of them gave us their hair to remember them by.
Dogs do this too, but I don't think they know they're
doing it. They don't give you that look, as you're leaving,
that says, "You know, I did this as a token of my respect for
you. I didn't have to do it at all. You'll meet other cats
out there, and they might not be so forthcoming. They
might not leave a mark on you (or your garment bag)
the way I did. You'll see."

So this blog is for the cats that I do remember.

I even included Suki (Sookie?)

despite the fact that (as I mentioned) she pissed
all over my garment bag, inside our van, the
morning we left New Orleans.

And of course I included Mr. Adventure.

In fact, I believe this is Mr. Adventure's second
mention in our blog, for obvious reasons.

And I included M&M and Paddywack even though
their paranoia of the ceiling fan and their obvious,
physical intolerance of a closed door make for
disjointed attempts at sleep each night. Not to
mention the fact that the sounds they make while
licking their kitty parts, or in between
their toes, is enough to make us want to vomit a
hairball or two ourselves.




They still get mentioned here. They still get a
liberal dose of lovin', some hearty rubdowns,
and a few nonsensical, guttural phrases from us
while we scratch behind their ears with ferocity.
They still get remembered.

Celebrated, in fact.

So here's to irregular sleeping patterns, hidden
litter boxes, and nine lives (if only Ford vans
could do the same). Here's to licking away the bad,
napping in the sunshine, and making games out of
literally nothing. Here's to reigning supreme over
the confined, physical space given.

And here's to showing obvious gratitude by replacing an
already comfortable silence with the best sound on earth.

We uploaded two MP3s from our radio show last week. The Race Track Song can be streamed or downloaded here - http://ping.fm/ZT01j Die hard TDH enthusiasts can get the whole show here - http://ping.fm/RCNTO

On a recent trip to L.A. we met up with our good friend and special FX genius Brian Emerson. Upon his recommendation, we decided to spend the day at The Museum of Jurassic Technology. Now, if you're anything like me, you're probably asking yourself "WTF does that mean?" After all, how much technology was there during a period of time that ended 150 million years ago, and why the hell would anyone want to go look at it? I tried to ask Brian these questions and he replied that it is better that he not attempt to explain it and instead let the museum speak for itself. After vising the museum I must admit that I still have no idea what the hell Jurassic Techology means, but would instead describe the museum as the most amazing collection of arcane and esoteric curiosities I've ever seen.

The first room that caught my eye contained a collection of micromosaics created by micrologist Henry Dalton in the 1800s. The miniscule works of art are viewed through a microcope and were created with a boar's bristle used to manipulate scales taken from butterfly wings while breathing through a tube. Unbelievable.


We then proceeded to a room dedicated to pre-scientific home remedies. The museum describes these as 'vulgar remedies', which is a gross understatement. Take, for example, the lovely display pictured here, under which a caption describes that mice on toast can be eaten to prevent bed-wetting. I'm not sure exactly what mice baked in a pie is used for, but would imagine that it's quite effective at inducing vomiting.


One display instructed that after losing a tooth, one must salt the tooth and bury it or else spend the afterlife searching through a pail of blood for the tooth. One exhibit warned that beating your child with an elderstick will stunt his or her growth. Another suggested sharing a bowl of milk with a dog to rid yourself of fever.


My favorite exhibit was a collection of microminiatures created by Hagop Sandaldjian. Pictured here is an honest to god (no pun intended) microscopic pope nestled comfortably in the eye of a fucking needle! Just look at his wee crucifix!


The microminiatures were so small and so fragile that a sneeze could destroy a piece of work entirely. Imagine trying to find this sucker in shag carpet. Hagop had to be so precise that he ultimately learned to apply his brushstrokes in between heartbeats. When Mr. Sandaldjian immigrated to the U.S. in 1980, he set out to be a violinist, but was so disheartened by his ability to find work that he decided to support himself and his family by creating tiny little statues instead. I find this to be a very amusing and telling commentary about the music business.


There is too much to see at The Museum of Jurassic Technology in one day. Other noteworthy parts of the museum include gorgeous 3-D X-ray photographs of flowers, a collection of failing dice, an entire room devoted to trailer park culture, and a library containing all things Napoleon (of course, who else?). Upstairs you will find a small theater, a display of different cat's cradles, and a very nice tearoom where you can discuss all of the weird shit you have seen with your friends. I found the Museum to be so incredibly fascinating that I can't imagine going back to L.A. without stopping in for a visit. After the museum we stopped for an In-and-out burger and watched The Princess and The Frog, which was delightful. Then we caught a Greyhound back to Tucson which will forever remain one of the most excruciating experiences of my life.

Cheers,
T.R.