My God, we're at Ponderosa! (part 3)

I awoke on the floor of ___'s disorganized room, there was shit everywhere and there was this smell...
Anyway...I started the day off by emptying a 40 gallon trash can, that contained foggy green water and what appeared to be a bloated squirrel. I never imagined this as being part of the tour, but crazy shit happens, and I'm here to take care of the bimbos and bloated squirrels. Something about Maryland.
Justin, Dan, Andrew and I went out scating (skating). We pursued an ideal place to bomb hills and tamed some monstrous ones in our quest. One should, nah, one must look tough when on the stick even when fear is lingering about. Yes, fear. At certain points the stick would be going so fast that it would shake and wobble like a tit. Justin was bombing this one hill and it turned out to be fatal. He has to bail but at his velocity, his jog turned into a furious sprint. The soda he bought at the 7-11 met it's fate as it smashed into the blacktop. If he didn't release it from his grasp and spike it on the ground he would have been eating rocks and wearing his tasty beverage. I have never seen anyone haul ass that quickly, so I opted to carry my stick down that hill.
The tour is not just about music, it is about scating (skating), friendship and who could forget japanimation porn. I watched in awe the creative process from our friends in the orient. When we finally snapped ourselves out of the television; we floated off to Newark, Delaware to the East End Cafe. I entered with my raccoon skin cap atop my head to find a family eating steak dinners and some locals at the bar. My God we're at Ponderosa. I helped to juggle in the equipment and the show was underway. Others showed up and things were going well except for this dumb dick, crazy, curly-haired muthafucker who kept telling the boys to turn it down. Turn it down!? Hell no! The Joypoppers were up next and they were a collection of loose cannons. The drummer was a complete hoser, pointing out to the crowd after each song with his drumsticks. The bass player would smash his head into his instrument which would lead to his bleeding forehead. The guitarist was too white too have dreads, while the lead singer screamed and hopped. The worst part was that Bryan convinced everyone that I was the lead singer. I think it was the skin tight jeans and the same coffee induced stage presence; all I had to say was "nah dude".
Justin treated me to a candy bar after selling some rere a pair of drumsticks. Mmmm...
Butterfinger, crispity-crunchity, peanut-buttery, thanks dude. We got back for a taste of Nero, and in no time we left. I could tell by Nat's shaking head that Nero was a lost cause. I refuse to mention anything about rainbows from a previous conversation and the tides turned as Nat got us lost 2 minutes after we left.
This tour is an unending adventure, with various pit stops to attempt to get sleep. We crashed at Andrew's house in New Jersey. An embarrassing event occurred as I was getting into bed. I was diving, yes literally diving, into my blankets that lay on the floor, Justin was situated next to me and was trying to prevent me from making a sound as I galloped to bed. He shouted "don't dive" and grabbed for my side. Well, he got a grip on my (arrows) underwear and in now time they ripped down the side. I was...well...I was naked. The others heard the commotion that Justin was trying to prevent. We tried to explain, but just ended up laughing it off.

Enough about the toilet and back to the tale...(part 2)

(names and places may be omitted to protect the innocent or incompetent)





We left Kutztown very late and things were falling apart all ready...Merry Christmas. The Jazz June was not on the bill in New York (we were supposedly booked to play a show @ abc no rio). I don't want to point and fingers but...I am. ___ ________, she was supposed to have everything planned out. Strike one.



Somehow there was a glimmer of hope as a show was found in Baltimore, at the Laff & Spit. We were on our way to another country; it wasn't exactly the easiest place to find, but after flying up and down the streets of a foreign land we found it. I felt different as we crossed the border and I've noticed that my body undergoes convolutions as we moved through the wall. What the hell am I talking about? Anyway let me say something about the toilet at the Laff & Spit, it was a shithole. The girl that lived there was fed up with the guys pissing on the seat up. Sure, no problem. I discovered that this was a problem when I had to use the toilet. Everytime I put the seat up it would fall down; so in order to get the job done I propped the seat up with my foot. I have never had so much trouble trying to take a leak. Later when I told Andrew (Low) he replied simply that he pissed in the sink...smooth.

Enough about the toilet and back to the tale...
The Jazz June was not the only band on this so called tour, we had the company of Mid Carson July. Before this time I never really knew them, but I am glad to say that Eric, Bryon, Mike and last but not least Charles are now close friends. Due to the fact that the Jazz June and Mid Carson July jumped the bill they had to play last; in addition to the fact they had to split a set.

With everything tuned up and turned on, Superstation started things off, it is funny I have never had to describe an irritating buzz, so I will just leave it at that. The melodrama of the Idea Men then flooded my senses as they wailed like an injured dog and flopped on the ground like a sizzling piece of bacon. Weak, pretty fucking weak, dude. A really swell band called Behind Closed Doors followed with their own hard hitting style, and style it was...really decent. I was truly disappointed as I watched so many people leave, no friggin' respect. I still bounced around and jiggled my money maker as my head was filled with the music of the Jazz June and Mid Carson July. As we left the quiant little dive, I paused for a sigh of relief; it was chock full of weirdos and I'm saying weeeiiirrrdos. One Maryland Mojo was trying to sell me items ranging from pot, to Levis jeans to 12 sided dice. "What size are you? What size are you?" he kept on asking. My first mistake was to answer. I repeated again and again that I didn't need pants, while Andrew chimed in that he hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons since he was a kid. That didn't really help the situation and he continued to badger us.

We finally made it back to ___ _________'s pad in _______ ____, but before we parked out faces in our pillows we got a brief taste of "South Park" (remember this is 1996). The stories revolve around these four foul-mouthed cartoon kids and from what we saw Jesus is a bad mutha' fucker. I almost pissed myself because it was so funny. I crashed very late and got to thinking before I knocked out; the van rides are really uncomfortable. No, extremely uncomfortable...I am all scrunched up like a sardine, people on top of me. "It's a shite situation" sorry "state of affairs" so I will just have to deal.

Let the Games begin, dudes... (part 1)

I am always walking around Kutztown, so to see me galavanting around was not an uncommon sight. In any case I was walking home on thursday night; slowly I droged (you have to ask Adam what this means) up the infamous hill towards the university. When all of the sudden I heard a group screaming what I thought was my name. As I gazed to my left, I pretended not to look but all to soon I was pulled into a metal beast. By the time I realized what happened I discovered I was kidnapped by members of the Jazz June.

It was by sheer coincidence that my tour friends saw me, and snatched me off the dimly lit streets of Kutztown. As we careened up the hill, and bobbed from destination to destination, we finally came to a stop. I released myself from the hold of the blue shag rug walls, that coated the interior of the van. I had to take a look...no, I had to absorb the make up and overall feel of our vehicle.

One could see that it had spent some time under the scorching rays of the sun, and fighting the worst weather that mother nature could whip up. The off grey...I don't know off blue color seemed to be melted together. The posterior of the van was wallpapered with a multitude of stickers. As I rolled around to the front of our massive mode of transportation, and opened my eyes, I discovered the motivation of or tour. It was spelled out simply on the hood...SLAYER. Let the games begin, dudes.

We ran around town until our eyes got heavy,and finally retired as the night crept away. As I lay beneath my covers in my bed, I felt a feeling of excitement coursing through my body; like when I was a little boy and tomorrow was Christmas day. This feeling was more intense because tomorrow the Jazz June tour would begin.

Get in the !@#$ing van...

Here begins a journey. A group of friends setting out on an adventure. Here, in words and pictures, is the documentation of those times through the eyes of one of those friends. His name is Adam Gerhart. This is not fiction. This is not a biography. I write this as only a transcriber of the thoughts that Adam wrote down on paper while on the adventure of a lifetime.

I will have to preface this with some important information. Adam was the roadie for a band in the late 90s. That band was the Jazz June. The Jazz June wasn't what you would call a top tier band. They had to pack themselves in a van to travel across the country. It was hot. It was sweaty. They had no money. But it was some of the greatest times in their lives.

It was about the music and friendship.