APPARENTLY "RAPEY" ISN'T A WORD. #ITSHOULDBE

                Being sick on tour absolutely sucks.  When you tour as much as I do then it’s bound to happen.  We have all had our bouts of illness while on the road and it’s never fun.  One time Ryan developed some kind of cist on his tail bone that made him look like he was growing a tail.  It was the size of an egg and was excruciatingly painful for him.  He could barely walk and certainly couldn’t sit down.  None of us had health insurance at the time and when it just kept getting worse he was really close to letting me lance it open with a razor blade.   Thankfully his family doctor agreed to see him “on the down low” so to speak and removed it for him free of charge.  I was kind of disappointed that I wasn’t going to get to try my hand at third world surgery, but I knew it was for the best.

                I woke up in A Coruña feeling tried and lazy.  I just figured it was the coffee moonshine in combination with late nights, three weeks of no exercise, and my horrible diet here in Europe.  We had a long drive to Madrid that day so I said “fuck it” and made every gas station candy isle my bitch that day.  We stopped at a lot of gas stations…

                Madrid is a beautiful city.  The downtown area reminded me a little of New York, but certainly not as big.  There were lots of lights, ads, and a general hustle and bustle to it that I really enjoy.  We also noticed an abundance of beautiful Spanish women.  We enjoyed that too.  At least we were relatively sure they were pretty. You can lose your bearings on that sort of thing after three weeks of being cooped up in a van with five other smelly guys.

                The club was the Wurlitzer ballroom.  They really were being overly gracious when they tacked on the whole “ballroom” thing.  It was a dirty rock club that was perfect for us.  The promoter was a gregarious guy with a really unique accent.  I had noticed a place that had Paella across the street.  One of the things I wanted to do in Spain was to eat some really authentic Paella.  I’ve had it once or twice, but I really wanted to try authentic Paella in Spain.  He tells me never to get it at a place that says PAELLA anywhere out front, and he says I should probably get it when I get back to the shore.  I was expecting that answer.  I thanked him and we had our old stand by (the Gyro) for dinner.

                We stayed at the Hostel Tokio, which was walking distance from the club.  I for one was hoping that it would be in the Asian part of town based on the name; however that was not the case.  The entrance was a discreet iron-clad door on a side street that should have been named the Spanish translation of “tranny hooker alley,” because that’s what it was.  As we walked in to this creepy old building I was sure that this was it… We had met our doom.  This had to be the point where all along we find out this tour is a sham and Marco is selling us into sexual slavery.  We trudged up some stairs to what I’m convinced is going to be some sort of rapey sex dungeon.  Surprisingly, when the door opened there was a sweet old Spanish lady sitting behind a desk in a well lit, clean, and nicely furnished lobby.  Inside the Hostel wasn’t sketchy at all.  Appearances can be deceiving here in Madrid. 

                The show was similar to the past few nights.  Small club, small but really enthusiastic crowd, and genuinely great people...  I continued to feel worse and worse though.  My stomach hurt from all the shit I ate, my chest was starting to become congested, sinus pressure, headache, and oh yeah my eye starts hurting.  Needless to say, after the show I made the trek back to tranny hooker alley and went to bed early.

                When I work up I knew for a fact I was sick.  All the symptoms of the prior night were compounded and there is no denying that I have an eye infection. Awesome.  Today is gonna rule.