We had a well-deserved day off in Arlington, Texas. We had the whole day and night to ourselves, so we started it off by going to a restaurant called Cici’s Pizza. Cici’s is a super cheap place to get tour food because it has a $5 buffet, which means endless pizza, pasta and desserts. Trust me when I tell you, I came out on top in that transaction. I went through some volume, son! We found a table for 10 and showed no mercy as we selfishly crammed our faces full of starch. I can recall this as one of the best afternoons on this tour so far, just because we were acting like a bunch of kids, eating all the pizza we could ever comprehend eating and had no adults around to tell us to stop. There were so many “high fives” and hysterical laughing sessions. We all left Cici’s with full bellies and sore faces from tittering.
After breakfast we got our laundry done, and contemplated our next move. Someone suggested that we check out Dimebag Darrell’s grave because he was buried at a cemetery down the street. So we went. I hope this doesn’t sound like sacrilege, but I thought it was a very strange and morbid way to spend a day off: checking out the burial site of a murdered rock star who I had never met. Most of the guys had their pictures taken next to his headstone, which was even weirder to me, if only because I’d have no idea what face to make: do I do it all somber and respectful, or do I throw up the horns and act all metal and shit? It just makes me feel silly. I know a lot of people can develop an emotional connection with musicians, but I usually make the separation easily in my head. If I don’t know the person, I don’t think I really have any reason to be at their grave, you know? I may just have a broken relationship with mortality itself. At any rate, the dudes all gathered around the grave and cranked up some old Pantera songs on a portable stereo and paid their respects.
Afterwards we devised our next evil plan over iced coffees. We decided it would be a fun idea to drive to Dallas and see our friends in Havok perform. It was a real treat to get to check out a metal show and not have to worry about any responsibilities. Just enjoy some entertainment without lifting shit, driving, or having to be interesting for 45 minutes. Havok are without a doubt one of the best metal acts around. Their singer David Sanchez was phenomenally charming and enticing, their guitarist Reece put on a great show and wowed the concertgoers with his catchy and memorable leads, but the star of the band in my opinion is drummer Pete Webber. In my eyes, Pete holds the whole thing together with his hypnotizing technique and rock solid rhythm. Great show boys!
In between bands I went for a quick stroll down the block to get a feel for Dallas and maybe do a little people watching. An enormous tough-looking black man intercepted my journey. He pointed to a white bracelet around his wrist with text on it and told me that he just got out of prison and wanted some change, presumably for a new library card or to buy flowers for the elderly. I sheepishly lied to him and told him that I was fresh out of change, and in a foolish sign of good faith I slapped my front pocket only to summon the jingle of a healthy wad of change from an evening of buying drinks from the bar. It immediately became evident that I lied to him because I was basically playing the white-boy pants-pocket tambourine jingo-jango. He demanded that I give him the contents of my pocket and I happily obliged. I would say that it went down as the most casual street robbery of all time, on par with your girlfriend stealing a fry off your plate at lunch. On the way back to the van, Adam and Mason took in a performance by a local crackhead who performed street magic while telling corny jokes. All in all it was a great night out.
Spencer “Here's my money, sir” LeVon
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