It takes a lot to make me puke. In my youth, the only things that would do it were cooked spinach or mixing weed & cheap booze. Mojo Nixon managed to make me puke. Was it really almost 30 years ago? Damn. I'm getting long in the tooth. The Rowdy Bovines had done a show with Mojo Nixon over at Graffiti. Always a fun joint, it was a mid-sized showcase venue (for those of yinz too young or too wasted to recall). I loved everything about the place except for the load-in and the cheap beer they always gave the Bovines. Usually Iron City. On rare occasions, Bud Ice (remember ice beers?). I rarely left the gigs feeling less than fine AND dandy . This gig was no exception. Mojo invited us (and a few others) back to his hotel to party. Comfortably in my 20s, I wasn't one to say NO. He was staying downtown at the Doubletree, which was a much nicer hotel than most musicians stayed at. The place was only a few years old at the time and was pretty fancy, especially by early 90s...
Short stories, essays, ramblings, musings, and other such nonsense.