Day the Third, April 25th, Philadelphia

Day the third started out auspiciously enough, with all four members of the band taking full advantage of the barely-there continental breakfast. With our bellies full of terrible coffee and some nasty muffin-esque stuff, we planned our day. We were only a couple hours from Philly, so there was really no rush, but "Do Me Beach" had pretty much worn out its novelty and so we hit the road.

This drive was stone cold uneventful, and featured Pete and I sitting in the back again working diligently at the Incredible Machine while Jordan and Gordon held hands and chanted meditations in the front. In practically no time we were there.

Now, I had never been to the city of brotherly love and I gotta tell ya, my first impression wasn't awesome. The club we were playing was, how do you say?, in a terrible neighborhood. At dinnertime Pete asked me "So, do you want to eat at the burned out crackhouse or down the street at the boarded up pawnshop?" But Gordon's cousin, Bebe, recommended the hole in the wall mexican place behind the blown up city bus, so we went there.

The show itself was blah. There was no one there except for my friend Danielle and Gordon's friend Matt. It was the kind of night where you could see in everyone's eyes that it was Sunday. Oh well, we played well and then hustled the hell out of there.

Matt had told us we could stay with him as a last resort and, well, he was. But he was a good sport and a great host, staying up late to let us in, making up a couple beds and putting mints on each of our pillows.

Jordan and I hit the sack first, but Pete and Gordon decided that it was the perfect time to scream their opinions about fantasy baseball, so no one got any sleep until the MLB twins decided it was time to sleep. Fuckers. Actually, they weren't that loud, but this apartment was like an echo chamber, so each statistic about Lance Berkman was like a nail in my brain. Life is, of course, terrible.

Anyway, finally I fell asleep and that was the day that was.