I just saw the space and its as if the bar owners were after my own heart--or jock strap. Picture a long club plastered in old rock and roll posters and banners with a raised stage and techies who seem like they must have been born with a goatee and a cigarette dangling out of the corner of their mouths. In short, it feels like home.
Its been quite a trip already, complete with old acquaintances, amazing and hospitable venues, and a flop-house turned dressing room area for yours truly that will officially be my favorite green room of all time--I mean I had two couches, TWO!
(Reunited with old friends backstage. The tux always gets them, but a blonde bouffant seals the deal.)
And of course, no trip back home would be complete without a sampling of North Dakota's finest:
(Smoked deer sausage. Gluten free crackers.)
Don't laugh! I was literally raised on deer sausage (and this was before I could even grasp its phallic implications.) This particular log was shot, processed, and plattered by my own father. Packed with protein and "natural flavoring." Hey, strippers need to eat too.
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