“Gosh,” you’re thinking to yourself. “I wonder what it’s like to be a rock star!” Funny you should ask. Here’s a brief rundown of my last few days:

Wednesday:

5am – go to bed in Lancaster, PA

7:30am – wake up and drive to Philly

11:30am – set up gear

12:15pm – play show

2pm – break down gear

3pm – grab a cheesesteak at Jim’s on South St. (first meal of day)

4pm – take care of business from Kinko’s docking station while Misha double-parks

5pm – drive to Granville, OH

Thursday:

12:30am – arrive in Granville

2am – finally tear ourselves away from the good people in Granville

4am – arrive at our hotel in Mansfield

4:01am – pass the fuck out

9:30am – wake the fuck up

11:30am – play show

1:30pm – mail things at post office in Mansfield

2pm – drive to Chicago

7:30pm – arrive in Chicago

10:30pm – see movie

1:45am – search for something witty to say here

2am – ultimately fail

Tour still proceeding apace. We had a terrifying 45 minutes’ worth of van trouble in Muncie, but that has since passed and we are now between towns in Ohio dreaming of tonight’s hotel check-in and subsequent shower. People have implied that we are doing this because we love music: not so. We are in it solely for the free hand soap and shampoo.

Our next show’s in Muskingum, which people have been warning us about all week, so we’ve taken our flak jackets to a local tailor’s for re-fitting and are frantically looking for that collapsable chicken-wire dome we’ve always joked about. I for one got one of the best sleeps of my adult life last night up at an organic commune that I’d tell you more about but have been sworn to so much secrecy over that I’ve probably already said too much.

And also, just because there’s been absolutely no narrative consistency to this posting, I’d like to sincerely thank all the people we’ve met on the road who have actually heard of us since way back when and driven more than 20 minutes to see us shake our speechwriting asses in some dimly lit cafeteria and sing along whenever we get the lyrics to a given verse right. You have no idea how cool that is for us. Or maybe you do, because our moms are secretly paying you to come out.

Either way, you’re good kids, all of you. Thanks.

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.