O port o potty
What lies beneath — discover!
Your sunken treasures

(that is a haiku because the syllables go 5 then 7 then 5) (let me explain)

This is my 11th road journal about port o potties.  I am counting.

Missoula, Montana.  Stage in a field.  Catering tent.  Gravel parking lot.  You do the math….  I will definitely be doing my business in a port o potty today.  But it’s already 11am when I stumble off the bus ready to start my umm, daily routine  — I am late to the game and there appear to be only two port o potties here, baking in the sun.  This is awful.  It’s 95 degrees in Montana today.


From inside the one on the right I can hear Adam on the phone.  There are no words to describe Adam’s dedication to his work with Reverb.  That he can hold a tele-conference in one of these shit coffins is true testament to his focus.  And his insanity.  The one on the left is unspeakably gross.  What now?

I prefer not to follow Adam directly.  Strange, I know — apparently I would prefer to follow a truck driver or a grimy local stagehand, perspiration dripping down into The Hole as they do their business — but I just don’t want to know whose poop mine is landing on top of.  Let it be a mystery.  I need to eat a piece of ginger and reboot.  I need a real indoor toilet.  This sucks.

And there it is, like an oasis… a row of twenty port o potties in the distance — the ones for the concert goers!  Of course.  Duh.  Civilian port o potties, before the civilians arrive for the concert.

The first one I pick, and I just use my ouija board intuition on this (like putting chips down on a roulette board)… the first one is pristine.  A virgin port o potty.  I think they were all virgin potties, like some enchanting island full of beautiful port o potty sirens, but I didn’t bother to check.  I was too busy photographing my own reflection in the water (before I crapped in it).


Crystal clear, all the way to the bottom, just the like Clark Fork River of Missoula, which we would float in a tube in (and pee in) later that day.  

Thanks Montana, for welcoming us so pleasantly to our first show in your state in 22 years as a band.


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6 responses to “Montana

  1. LOL @ “Shit coffins”

  2. Gwyndelon

    I never knew port o potties could be so inviting.

  3. Ryan

    Guster! You guys did so well in Missoula! I’m from great falls and absolutely loved your performance. Also, I’m glad to hear your porto-pottie experience was grand.

  4. It was good to hear you had a good day on the river… You guys totally rocked it. Thanks for finally coming out this far. We hope you decide to come back. Maybe to the Wilma Theatre, downtown, where you’d get some nice indoor facilities.

  5. Susan Kirk and Callie

    We drove all the way from Portland to Whatever that place in Washington you played, just because even a few songs live from Guster are better than…well…most stuff. It is silly to apologize for sun in the Northwest, but I do want to tell you that if you come to Portland, you’ll sell out the Crystal and everyone will dance their hearts out and sing along and it will be a lot more fun than Smain Blain opening band when you were really the whole point. Can we do this all over the right way?

  6. Pingback: Trying to pee in France | Guster Road Journal

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