11.13.06 – Los Angeles, CA

We’ve been in Los Angeles for the last few days, and as usual I’ve spotted a few celebrities. I couldn’t quite place the first one I saw when he got out of an SUV the size of my apartment, but the guy had such an aura of cheese-dick about him I knew that he had to be famous. My friend Dave said “love the show, love the show” as he walked pass us, and he offered back a testosterone-flavored “thank you, brother,” without breaking a stride or removing his sunglasses.

I thought he was gonna snap into a Slim Jim right then and there. A couple hours later we got a text message from our tour manager that read: Dog the Bounty Hunter is staying at the hotel and is every bit the cheese dick he appears to be on TV…

Other celebrity spottings: On the flight out here I am pretty sure I was sitting next to the woman that played the mom in that movie “Junebug” (yes, this is a pretty boring celebrity siting) (no, I don’t talk to the people in my row on airplanes), and last night Meg White came into Norm’s Diner in West Hollywood while I was half way through my Avo-Gobble sandwich. She did not play the stuffed-animal lose-fifty-cents crane game. I did.

But the most exciting starfucking moment in our week was actually Thursday in Chicago, when we went on a morning radio show right after “Weird Al” Yankovic, who is back on top of the world again thanks to a video where he’s riding a segueway scooter. We got photos with him. I wanted to tell him that UHF is my favorite movie of all time, but I was too shy, and UHF is not my favorite movie of all time. But Weird Al was generous with his time, approachable, and full of energy. He even looked directly into the tiny lens of Ryan’s cell phone camera and made an “I’m wild and crazy” face when Ryan did his usual trick…

The other night in Columbus a ping pong ball caught on fire underneath my drum stool in the middle of Ruby Falls. Our guitar tech, Andy, spotted it and pretty much darted across the stage and smothered the flames with his body, just as I was starting to feel like my ass was getting hot. I didn’t lose a beat, or my life, and Ruby Falls was all the more epic with a little pyro. How this becomes the last paragraph in a road journal about “Weird Al” Yankovic, and not it’s own proper entry, has everything to do with the fact that there’s no photo to go along with the story. Thanks Andy!

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