After a hearty fish fry with Mr. J. Ned StromKirby (mmm. Deep Fried Fish!), We each proceeded to Dane County Regional Airport.
Bearing a sign reading “Iris”, we waited. I didn’t know at the time that I wasiting for Blitz (the drummer), and Ned was busy panicking because he didn’t see Reagan’s flight on the monitor. Both issues soon got resolved, in that I learned Blitz’s name, and Ned determined that all Midwest flights were missing from the arrivals monitor.
I took Blitz and his Giant Bastard Drum Kit back to the hotel. We blabbed about the state of music today, which Depeche Mode producers sucked, etc. We waited for Reagan and Ned, and Chuck and Matt and Andrew. After arrival, there was some confusion in that there was only one hotel room for the four of them. Due to the Madison Blues Festival, hotel bookings in the city were scarce, but we found a discarded reservation and took over that room for Reagan and Andrew.
We had much fun with the fact that they were staying in a “smoking queen.”
After depositing their gear, the hyperkinetic Andrew decided we must drink, and drink heavily. This being Madison, such a task was easily accomplished. Chuck, Ned, and I dragged Reagan and Andrew to the Union Terrace where we drank copious amounts of beer and generally talked shop. Then Andrew and I spontaneously started singing Panjabi MC. Reagan was blown away by the concept of drinking Spaten from a paper cup on a terrace on the lake, and was quite happy with the whole accomodation. After they stopped serving and it was evident that nobody’s liver had been quite punished enough, we proceeded to a bar to absorb the last drops of booze before bartime.
These texan boys, they can drink. Reagan becomes very effusive after several beers. Andrew becomes even bouncier.
I eventually got them back to their hotel by about 2:45, and I crashed around 3. Sleep was cruelly interrupted at around 9 for unknown reasons, so I used the opportunity to stock up on slipperyelm throat lozenges.
Soon, the loading of gear will begin.