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Backstage with Baldy

Calgary – July 2nd

Foul moods can be interesting things.

Sometimes you just wake up in one, other times circumstances drive you to it, and a lot of times a person or people can send you there.

I spent a majority of the day in one. I’m not exactly sure why it lasted so long, but I sure as hell know why it started.

To avoid the nasty drive, we spent the night in Vancouver and chartered a jet and flew in to Calgary on the day of the show.

What that meant was that we had the morning to ourselves in Vancouver.

What does a morning to myself in Vancouver consist of? Yep, you guessed it, doing Jerry’s laundry.

I went online and found a laundromat that was about a 10 minute walk from the hotel, grabbed Jerry’s stuff, and took off.

90 minutes later I arrived at the laundromat.

Now, I consider myself to be a person of average intelligence.

I can string a sentence together, I can do simple math, and I can eat using utensils.

Apparently what I can’t do, however, is follow the directions on an iphone map.

About 5 blocks into my trek, I took a right instead of a left, then about 10 minutes later the GPS on the phone crapped out, and I was left to wander the streets of Vancouver like a lost puppy with a sack of rock star laundry draped over my shoulder.

About 40 minutes into the journey I began to quietly curse to myself, about 5 minutes later I began to curse to anyone within a half-block radius, and about an hour into it I nearly punched a sandwich board outside a restaurant.

But then a serenity settled in and I calmed down a bit.

Much like the five stages of grief, the final stage of Realizing You’re A Dumbass is acceptance.

Once I accepted the fact that I alone was responsible for the situation, I was able to calmly reassess things, figure out where I went wrong, and find my way to the laundromat.

Unfortunately my reward for finally finding the place was to spend another hour there actually doing Jerry’s laundry. I’m not sure how much time you’ve spent in a public laundromat in a sketchy neighborhood, but it’s a great place to exacerbate your bad mood.

For some reason, travelling in a chartered jet a few hours later didn’t make it go away, so I arrived in Calgary in an aggravated state.

And once the band members sensed that I was the equivalent of an emotional human scab, they began to pick away at me.

At one point the dressing room was a bit like a verbal MMA fight, with me taking on Sean & Mike and all of us hammering away at each other.

It was all in good fun though, and the beauty of a strong friendship is that you can occasionally hate each other’s guts for a few minutes and try to destroy one another emotionally before circling back around and hugging it out.

So instead of writing about the show, or all of the cowboy hats and cleavage that were everywhere, or the dude that snuck past security and climbed the scaffolding by the side of the stage, or the band donning cowboy hats of their own for Rooster, I decided to write about the cranky pants I wore all day.

For some reason I feel like I need to conclude this write-up by treating it like the start of an AA meeting, where I stand up in front of you all and introduce myself.

My name is Baldy, and I was a dick today…

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