Click on image for Free Demo Download

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Towards Disastour Blog Vol. 2.5: Sleepless in Greenfield

Last night I had the shittiest sleep of all time. We were put up by Brian from American thrash band Lich King in a small town called Greenfield, MA. He lives on a beautiful property at the end of a long, skinny and winding forest road. We headed there after our set in Florence Mass for some much needed shut eye. When we got there Brian gave us a tour of his basement, which turned out to be an awesome recording studio. I would normally be all too enthusiastic to be hanging out with all of this great recording equipment and great company, but I was just too damn exhausted to hang out. Instead of being a polite guest, while everyone was preoccupied I meticulously and connivingly scoped out a place to sleep. “Forget these chumps I am traveling with; I'm looking out for numero uno. Self-interest is the name of the game, baby,” I selfishly grunted to myself. As the band was getting the grand tour and being polite, I took off in a flash in search of a soft surface to rest my weary head.
DSC_0831
I came across a large room I can only describe as a utopia of sleeping apparatuses: couches and bunk beds galore. I had my first pick of all of them. I believe I started laughing maniacally before doing a quick test sample of all of them with my fatigued fanny. Until I found it: the top bunk of the bunk bed. I could not resist its charm. There is something about the top bunk that has always been sacred. It has been fought for and coveted through the ages in school-aged sleepovers since the invention of the stackable bed. I love everything about the top bunk. Especially that intrepid and gallant feeling you get as you pitter-patter up the silly little ladder. I scaled that fuckin' dumb ladder in 2 and a half seconds and descended into sweet, sweet comfort and relaxation.

Enter Adam Zlotnik

I will say this right now. Sleeping on a bunk bed above Adam Zlotnik is like trying to slow dance with an epileptic at a rave. It’s fucked. He immediately hopped in the bottom bunk and made a phone call to my complete sorrow and disappointment. Once the phone call was complete, he began tossing and turning like a listless trout washed up on the beach of fuck-it. Once he got settled he would go “AAAAH” like he had just drank a nice iced tea on a hot day. All the while I was wiggling about on the top bunk like an asshole whose only fault was being mind numbingly self-serving.
DSC_0888
Then finally I approached rest. You know that warm and tender feeling you get as you slip away into sweet unconsciousness? It’s like a hug from your mother, and a pleasant bath all in one. I just started drifting… and drifting… and drif…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I immediately become fully alert and filled with homicidal rage. I realize that it is Adam knocking in my bed from underneath me. “WHAT!?” I squeaked like I had just had a dream of road rage. “Is that you snoring?” he whispered. It was then that I look to the floor and find my brother and drummer: self-sufficient snoring Mason on an inflatable air mattress that he had the foresight to bring from home so that he would never have to sleep above a gentleman with the personality and likeability of a wet sock ever again. “NO IT’S MASON SNORING, AND NOW I HAVE A FRONT ROW SEAT FOR IT ASWELL YA PRICK!” “…sorry.”

I could have gotten back to sleep if my entire being wasn’t consumed by hate and irritability.

Should have taken the couch.


Spencer “Me first” LeVon
DSC_0845

2 comments:

  1. The bunk is a rookie mistake. Always pick the theater room where there is no foot traffic, and where the cat's aren't allowed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Apparently the cats hold possession of 'aren't allowed.

      Delete