Listening to the new Underworld album right now and really digging it. I mean, really digging it. You, the reader, should forget about us and get rabidly into Underworld as soon as you possibly can, because they’re really just uncomfortably good at what they do, which is breathing life into otherwise soulless machines and rocking you stupid using only four hands and a laptop.

Us three are driving through Missouri right now, where I just found out I’m kind of from, on our way from a noon show in Kansas to a maybe house party in Illinois before we redescend on Wisconsin and rock the hell out of a slightly different part of it.

The tour thus far has been everything we hoped for and then some. Twenty-six days in and we have still yet to pay out of pocket for a night’s lodging. Eighteen individual states as of this afternoon, and at least twice as many eerily solid friendships formed therein. Tales of reckless indulgence without number, most of them too bawdy by half for your collective virgin ear.

But every road has its toll, to horribly misquote Poison. Band literacy has taken a backseat to SportsCenter, and we haven’t done so much as a situp since Tulsa. I’m about as sick of Subway value meals as I am of this week’s shirt, and the van is developing its own heady and distinctive musk despite our repeated requests for it not to.

No real moral to be gleaned from this, just thought I’d share. Fall should be here in a matter of days. Hope you’re all well.

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