The Painted Cave Band was enjoying the lovely weather in Boston, New York, and Virginia the last few weeks. (Our touring to places overseas is still on hold, passports confiscated, all related to Jimmy sneezing on a Qatari border agent’s vaccine card scanner. We only found out the cause yesterday.) Did we mention we were having fun with the east coast weather? On the eastern bank of the Hudson right in the middle of the Polar Vortex our driver refused to cross the Mario Cuomo bridge citing any contact with something Cuomo-ish would require the bus to be disinfected. An expensive and yucky notion indeed. So our alternate route stuck us in a three-day traffic jam on the George Washington Bridge. Eighteen feet deep it was and not all of it was snow. Thank God Original Ray's Pizza delivers. You know, Manhattan style, the kind ya stack and fold over with three fingers to capture the grease? Stu and Jimmy refuse to go near that deep dish glop that passes for Midwesterner pie. We ate only slices and drank only beers the whole time. Empty boxes tossed out the window (no one noticed the incremental trash BTW) forming westbound trail indicating, Hansel and Gretel-esque, the band’s slow yet consistent progress to the Garden State. Yup. The idiot savant Governor of New Jersey was pleased (he tweeted it, go check! )we couldn't set up our amps and bring any more noisy attention to the woes of Fort Lee locals. Seizing the advantage, we asked for Jets tix reminding him Stu grew up in Jersey and he said, forgedda-bowdit. Hey, we tried.
Now we're back in the horrid Arizona weather (You call this weather?) It's going to kill us, but we'll come out for a rockin’ raucous night at The Roadhouse in Cave Creek. In 3 weeks. The 28th. Friday. No snow…we promise.