On the town in St. Louis
First off, huge apologies for the lack of posts. We decided to take the weekend off, but don’t fret, we’re back and better than ever.
As soon as we arrived at the Red Roof Inn in St. Louis, we hurriedly brushed teeth, reapplied deodorant, washed faces and changed into party shirts – we were going out on the town. It was the first time in the Gateway to the West for three out of the four of us and our first night off after playing six shows in five days.
We departed our sweet hotel room – certainly the nicest we’d had all trip – and walked journeyed across a sketchy bridge over a massive muddy ditch through the section of town known as “The Hill” and into Dogtown. Jeremiah gave us a little history lecture – apparently Dogtown was residence to poor English, Irish and Welsh immigrants that had many dogs. The road cutting through Dogtown was used by the upper classes to get to their large houses in their hoity-toity carriages and the dogs would run wild, howl and bite the horses’ ankles.
We saw one black dog sleeping. Will forgot that maxim about letting sleeping dogs lie and it gave us a nasty glare.
Jeremiah had scoped out the hot prospect of Seamus McDaniels, which had a huge (and empty) back porch.
He also said we had to try Budweiser on tap because it’s far better in St. Louis – he told no lies. The king of beers lacks that brutal aftertaste one finds in bottles out East and instead was sweet and extremely drinkable. So drinkable we downed five (cheap) pitchers.
Close to 1 a.m., we were the sole patrons and joined the bartendress and owner for a last round. We chatted real estate (it’s also cheap out here) and the flooding in Georgia before stumbling out – quite lovely people at Seamus McDaniels. It is Jaguar Club approved.
Drunken munchies struck as we tried to find our way back to the hotel. Many band meetings were held in huddle form, some just to admire Gavin’s loud and amusing drunken hiccoughs.
We decided on Denny’s, which was also closing but offered to make us something to go – just about every fried option on the appetizer menu. More band meetings were held outside, though the outcomes were ultimately forgotten. Gavin decided to roll barrel-style down a sharp embankment nearly into the street. Attempts to buy beer were thwarted by Missouri law.
Back at the Red Roof, we dug greedily into our feast. During this time a ketchup battle erupted – the catalyst is a bit hazy, but probably could be summed up by intense wastedness. Countless packets of ketchup were fired across the hotel room with only a few exploding. The room was filled with moans and the sound of plastic whipping bare flesh. It was an every-man-for-himself brouhaha that devolved into wrestling, whipping with shirts and rug burns before we all passed out from the perfect combination of exhaustion and drunkenness.
As we groggily checked out of the Red Roof the next morning, Yoi realized he had forgotten his favorite shirt. He sheepishly searched the room as the housekeeping woman cleaned up bits of tortilla chips, ketchup wrappers and other pieces of carnage. War is hell.
As soon as we arrived at the Red Roof Inn in St. Louis, we hurriedly brushed teeth, reapplied deodorant, washed faces and changed into party shirts – we were going out on the town. It was the first time in the Gateway to the West for three out of the four of us and our first night off after playing six shows in five days.
We departed our sweet hotel room – certainly the nicest we’d had all trip – and walked journeyed across a sketchy bridge over a massive muddy ditch through the section of town known as “The Hill” and into Dogtown. Jeremiah gave us a little history lecture – apparently Dogtown was residence to poor English, Irish and Welsh immigrants that had many dogs. The road cutting through Dogtown was used by the upper classes to get to their large houses in their hoity-toity carriages and the dogs would run wild, howl and bite the horses’ ankles.
We saw one black dog sleeping. Will forgot that maxim about letting sleeping dogs lie and it gave us a nasty glare.
Jeremiah had scoped out the hot prospect of Seamus McDaniels, which had a huge (and empty) back porch.
He also said we had to try Budweiser on tap because it’s far better in St. Louis – he told no lies. The king of beers lacks that brutal aftertaste one finds in bottles out East and instead was sweet and extremely drinkable. So drinkable we downed five (cheap) pitchers.
Close to 1 a.m., we were the sole patrons and joined the bartendress and owner for a last round. We chatted real estate (it’s also cheap out here) and the flooding in Georgia before stumbling out – quite lovely people at Seamus McDaniels. It is Jaguar Club approved.
Drunken munchies struck as we tried to find our way back to the hotel. Many band meetings were held in huddle form, some just to admire Gavin’s loud and amusing drunken hiccoughs.
We decided on Denny’s, which was also closing but offered to make us something to go – just about every fried option on the appetizer menu. More band meetings were held outside, though the outcomes were ultimately forgotten. Gavin decided to roll barrel-style down a sharp embankment nearly into the street. Attempts to buy beer were thwarted by Missouri law.
Back at the Red Roof, we dug greedily into our feast. During this time a ketchup battle erupted – the catalyst is a bit hazy, but probably could be summed up by intense wastedness. Countless packets of ketchup were fired across the hotel room with only a few exploding. The room was filled with moans and the sound of plastic whipping bare flesh. It was an every-man-for-himself brouhaha that devolved into wrestling, whipping with shirts and rug burns before we all passed out from the perfect combination of exhaustion and drunkenness.
As we groggily checked out of the Red Roof the next morning, Yoi realized he had forgotten his favorite shirt. He sheepishly searched the room as the housekeeping woman cleaned up bits of tortilla chips, ketchup wrappers and other pieces of carnage. War is hell.
posted by The Jaguar Club at
9:42 PM
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