The Strokes Polska

już nie takie nowe, ale ja wcześniej tego nie czytałam;)

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Glasgow:

It’s always appreciated when people hang out by the stage door but everyone feels kind of guilty when it’s so cold outside. I often wish we had something to give away as a defense against the weather – but apart from some water or some towels –– but we don’t really have anything. Occasionally we’ll carry part of the rider onto the bus, so if you’re out there and you’re suddenly handed a wheel of Danish blue cheese, a mini-pack of chocolate shreddies, or a bag of salted pretzels, it’s only displaced guilt and intended affectionately. We’re not trying to be lame; or spiteful. I hate people who hand out cheese spitefully. There’s no need for that, no need at all.

The two Glasgow shows were great. The support band (The 1990s) were really good and Adam Green joined the tour in Glasgow as our main support for the second half of the tour. It’s good to have Adam around again, he always makes everyone feel better just by being Adam. It’s hard to have a dull conversation with Adam, even for me. And I’m good at having boring conversations. Ask The Strokes.

The band have a small rehearsal set-up in their dressing room where they can work on the songs in their set or just kill time if they’re hanging around. There’s a lot of hanging around on tour, we’re all at Olympic Standard at waiting in hotel lobbys, airports and venues. In Glasgow the band’s dressing room was under the stage and in between songs during Adam’s set it was possible to hear The Strokes playing through Vision of Division and Electricityscape.

After the Glasgow show we went back to the hotel and hung out with Adam and some friends. The next day, everyone looked as though they’d hung out with Adam and some friends until quite late. Except Adam, strangely. The Big Dog looked as fresh as a daisy.

HULL:

Super Dave, our driver, got us to Hull in record time after the Edinburgh show. The hotel turned out to be a tour favourite, much to my surprise (I couldn’t even get an omlette let alone pay Twenty Five quid for one). When we tried to leave for soundcheck the next day, the bus had been blocked-in by a Porsche and a Peugot. No one could find the drivers so, while the band waited on the bus, ready to go to the venue, I was inside a function room at the hotel, waiting for a pause in the Macarena to ask everyone at a kids party if they’d come in a Blue Peugot.

It’s a longer song than you think. But the dance is quite catchy and easy to pick up.

Half an hour later, after some Westlife songs and a bit of Abba for the Mums, still no one had owned-up to owning the cars, even though I held the kid who’s birthday it was upside down by the ankles until he cried.

Neither me, Nick, Julian, Danny nor Rob could bring ourselves to bounce the Porsche out of the way so Super Dave eventually drove through some shrubbery to get the bus out of the car park.

Every now and then something happens to remind you not to go getting any airs and graces.

On the plus side, I did manage to get a slice of cake and a balloon, so it wasn’t a total wash-out; although I don’t know that the little girl I stole them from would say as much.

MANCHESTER:

Fab, Albert, Nikolai, Nick, Danny and Rob all went to see Little Britain in Manchester at the Apollo. Danny got taken onstage during Fat Fighters by Marjorie Dawes. (“You is fat! You is a fat man!”). When Danny left the stage Marjorie said: “Oooh, and he doesn’t half stink.!” That one has stuck, strangely…

If there is any way to get our hands on the video footage shot that night the band would love to get hold of it. They’ll do the signed photo of all of them in the oversized Fat Fighters Tee-shirt as a trade. (They’d be wearing their clothes too. It takes more than a video of their Head of Security being humiliated to get The Strokes to take their clothes off for a group shot – not much more, to be honest, but more nonetheless….)

Thanks to Matt and David and everyone at the Apollo. Everyone had a boss time. You’ll have to come over to ours next time…

BLACKPOOL:

The venue looked like a cake inside; very ornate, very Louis XIV. However it wasn’t designed to house big rock shows so it was difficult to put our show in, but we’re trying to use the full production however we can so that everyone gets to see the same show. The venue had a nice sprung dancefloor too; how I love to watch the stage set bounce and shake during the show.

We sped back to London after the show with Adam Green hitching a ride too. There were football tournaments in the back lounge (Guv’nor, Julian, Danny & Fab) and Movies in the front lounge and the usual slobbering morass of cakes and cheeses and sweaty musicians.

We got to London in record time (It was our last trip with Super Dave. He’s going to join the Kelly Clarkson tour. God’s Speed, Kelly. Who’s bunk will you be in?)

London

The following day the band were up early to record a session for Zane Lowe’s show – they recorded three of their songs and a Ramone’s cover (Life’s A Gas) with Miti at the console at Maida Vale Studios. As we walked through the labyrinthine studio maze underneath Delaware Road we passed orchestras and choirs rehearsing. It’s a strange place because it hasn’t changed from the sixties. It’s easy to imagine all the sessions that have taken place there before. There’s something calming about being at any of the BBC Studios – even when listening to The Strokes belt-out a Ramones song.

On the day off I went with Julian and Kellie, our long-suffering and legendary travel agent, to look at some hotels around London. We’re planning to stay in the city a lot this year and we decided it would be good to find a permanent home for when we visit again so each time we know where we’re going to stay. We saw about 7 hotels, from the sublime to the ridiculous. Everyone was trying to impress us so we saw plenty of suites and plenty of gyms and swimming pools (--One had music piped underwater. Albert asked later if it was possible to plug in your i-pod underwater instead of having to listen to Enya, or whatever it was they were playing. That’s a very Albert question, and a boss idea. Take note pool designers – underwater ipod docks are what everyone will be wanting soon…Even Enya, and she can probably afford a pool or two. She’d probably like to listen to her special Pool Workout Mix when doing her aqua aerobics. I bet even Enya likes listening to Jay-Z and Fiddy when she’s working-out in the pool. God knows, I know I do. I save those Orinoco Flow jams for when I go a-wooing. The ladies love those smooth sounds, they really do).

So far on this tour alone we’ve stayed at four different London hotels and we’ve seen about ten or so. I’m going to talk Julian into starting a travel agency later this year; it would be a shame to waste all this knowledge of square footage and thread-counts.

Guest lists for shows in London, New York and LA are always the stuff of migranes and tears. I’ve been working on this one for two weeks and it’s still chaos. These shows are always so busy, the list is always a drama and everyone gets anxious so there’s always an edge to everything at a London show. I went to the venue early to try to get a head- start on some work but it was pretty futile because of all of the minutiae that needed to be dealt with. By the time the band arrived I was knackered and still in the same place I was when I’d arrived.

Fab and Nick rehearsed some songs downstairs in the rehearsal room. Everyone was completely focused on the upcoming performance, lots of pacing around the dressing rooms and last minute set list discussions. With all this pent-up energy it was no surprise the shows went really well. Comparing them to Shepherd’s Bush at the start of the tour it was easy to see how the band have found their stride over the tour.

Nick broke his guitar at the end of the first show – he snapped the headstock clean off. I tried calling around the next day to get a replacement but no one had any. We’ll have to wait until we get back to the US. Ooops.

On a side note, I think Nick Valensi is getting taller. I don’t know why. I just think he is. Albert’s getting groovier. We had him tested and it’s been proven by science.

Dublin # 1:

Darwin award: We left London on Monday morning to go to Dublin. On the way we stopped at the petrol station for someone to use the bathroom. Making the most of the pause in the journey, Fab got out for a cigarette….

On the flight to Dublin we were all very, very tired. Half of us are sluggish with with colds and some kind of malingering chest infection that never gets beyond an annoying congestion. Maybe it’s that TB that’s coming back these days? My favourite thing about illness on tour is that you get sick and pass it on. But by the time you’re over it and well again, it comes back around as a slightly different type of lurgy so you get it all over again. The gift that keeps on giving.

It’s fitting we were flying to the city of James Joyce, Sheridan Le Fanu and George Bernard Shaw. This was the conversation on the plane from London, almost word for word:

Fab: What are you drinking?
Danny: Ribena.
Fab: What’s that?
Danny: It’s made from blackcurrants.
Fab: What are blackcurrants?
Danny: Don’t you get them in America?
Fab: No. Are they like Blackberries?
Danny: No. They’re blackcurrants.
Fab: So, what’s a blackcurrant?
Julian (from one row forward): What was that question you won on trivia about blackberries?
Rob: Oh yeah, 95 % of blackberries in the world are in the UK.
Julian: It was Genus Edition of Trivia. Good answer.
Danny: 95% of all UK Blackcurrants are used to make Ribena. It says on the bottle.
Richard: So 95% of 95% - what does that make the overall % of world blackberries are used in Ribena.
Rob: No – It’s blackcurrants in Ribena.
Ryan (from one row ahead): Nice drop of Ribena, eh Danny?
Danny (nodding): Yeah, But it’s 95% of Blackberries what grow in the UK.
Someone: So it’s not 95% of 95%?
Fab: No. Can somebody tell me what the F*** a blackcurrant is?
Rob: It’s a currant…
Richard: …that is Black.
Danny: It’s what makes Ribena. (Takes a sip). That reminds me, my cat ate a bird; whole. It was ‘orrible.
(Pause)
Danny: …beak and bones and everything. Do you think it digested everything?
Fab: Probably not.
Danny: I bet it eats a lot of birds…I wonder how many beaks and bones are in my cat?
Rob: It’s full of fossils then, isn’t it?
Fab: (Animated) Oh man, do you realize how many fossil fuels we’re using now, flying to Ireland?!
Danny: We could have taken the bus like the crew…
Richard: Then you’d have to use a ferry. They use up a lot of fossil fuels, back and forth across the Irish sea day in, day out…it’s not really plain sailing.
Fab: Not as much as a plane though.
Richard: Ah, but there’s the bus too. That has to drive to Holyhead first.
Fab: We’re running out of fossil fuels…there won’t be any left soon. Future generations are going to be in big trouble because we’re using them all.
Rob: So we should start saving them for future generations.
(Pause)
We should start burning some animals now, and save all the fossil fuels for later.
Danny: Like me cat does…
Ryan: Your cat burns animals?
Richard: We’d have to use some big animals to make it worthwhile. Get rid of all the big, crap.
Fab: (Shakes head)
Danny: We could use all the whales. They don’t do anything do they…? And no one ever sees them? Have you ever been out on a boat looking for whales…they just swim around at the bottom of the sea doing nothing and you can never see one.
Rob: And Giraffes…they’re big. And pretty useless, aren’t they?
Fab: And Danny’s Cat. It’s full of bones…

Wildean, yes?
It’s better than the flight to Glasgow where Danny and Rob cried with laughter the whole way over a copy of Viz.

To be fair, it was a pretty funny issue.

Dublin # 2:

We get to our very nice hotel and everyone is exhausted. The rooms at the hotel are very sumptuous. The band decide not to soundcheck and I go on ahead to get started on some work. I want to lie on my bed and sleep, everyone does. It’s the second largest show of the tour and everyone feels wiped-out. There’s no one reason for this; no one was out so late the night before, everyone got some rest. It’s just one of those days. We’ve passed the three and a half week mark now and that’s always the point when things start getting interesting on tour and everyone gives up on trying to hide their little quirks.

By everyone, I mean me. By quirks, I mean psychoses.

(After three and a half weeks people start to go weird on tour, after five weeks people start experimenting with facial hair. I imagine by Tulsa there’ll be a couple of shadowy new beards and some patchy moustaches trying their best to sprout. We’ll look like the Village People in ankle boots).

At the venue half of the crew are sick and there’s a sense of disconnection backstage. Because there’s been a change of faces (our old caterers finished with us in Hammersmith – see you chaps!) it feels a little different. This isn’t bad but it just means it’s not as cozy backstage--or maybe familiar is the right word. Either way, Jamie who does the band’s onstage sound, is so sick he’s barely been out of bed all day and almost everyone else is drained and tired. The omens aren’t good and morale is muted. There’s a strange vibe at the show. If I’m honest I have to say I feel like going home to bed, and I suspect I’m not alone. Again, this is nothing to do with the venue or the town or the audience or anything other than the strange ethereal dynamics you find on a tour. I wander around calling out the countdown (“You’re on in twenty minutes.”) and the band try to muster up their collective mojo while they finalise the set list. (As with previous tours, the set list is changing right up to when they walk on…if you get a set-list from the stage it’s sometimes wrong because the latest version never made it there – that, and because I keep getting them wrong. I left a song off the Doncaster set list – did I tell you about that? It was You Only Live Once – I can’t remember if they played it or if none of the band were expecting it when Julian announced it. Sorry Doncaster if I owe you a Strokes song….)

Everyone seems to want to get back to the hotel to rest and to shake off the strange mood. It’s certainly the least auspicious pre-show vibe of the tour. Just to make it worse, as the band walk-on I move my arm without looking behind me, and I clip Fab over the eye. It was probably the equivalent of stubbing your toe right as you go onstage: really, really annoying… he was very gracious about it. I would have wanted to slap me.

And they get on stage and The Point goes mental and it’s one of the best shows ever and one of the best audiences ever and everyone has an amazing gig and when they come off they are all buzzing and completely blown away by it and so is the pallid, sweating crew and who knew because an hour and a half ago everyone looked thoroughly crispy and ready to drop?

It just goes to show you can never tell…Thanks Dublin. Tonight everyone wanted to move here…

Back at the hotel Julian and I try to order food from room service to eat in the lounge but can’t--for reasons only understood by hotel managers. So we order a pizza and Albert gets a Kebab with Danny and Adam Green comes over to hang out and I leave them to it. No one drinks the champagne that Dennis the Promoter gives us because it’s not that kind of night. We save it for tomorrow – the last night of the tour.

There’s ninjas in the hotel bedrooms again tonight, too. When we get back to the hotels (sometimes) the housekeeping staff have been in to turn down the bed, leave out a pair of slippers (which we all steal to wear on the bus or on long flights), and for some reason they tune the radio to a classical radio channel. This is always a little creepy when you come home. The lights are on, someone’s been in (ostensibly to make it feel homely), a load of lights that you’d never noticed during the day have been switched on, the curtains are drawn and there’s ALWAYS some classical music playing in the background. That thing I said about the psychoses? Well, I always feel haunted by this – so much so that I have to turn the radio off and change the lamp settings before I can relax and stop waiting for ninjas to jump out of the closet at me. I’m not alone in this feeling too. And even though I know this is nonsense, somehow, at 11:30PM, with Mahler’s 2nd or Mozart’s cowing Requiem playing in an empty room I am certain I am being sized-up by ninjas.

And you can’t prove that I’m not, either.

The Belfast audience was legendary as usual. Sorry we had to reschedule the date but all’s well that ends well.

In the hotel bar afterwards Danny and I would like to extended a big thank you to the man who showed everyone his Map of Africa. Nice one. Classy move.

London:

We flew back to London for the NME awards. It’s strange at the airport as it feels like everyone who works for the airline has had their common sense and common courtesy bones removed, and has instead replaced them with extra officiousness and pedantry. Just what you want for breakfast, eh? Ill-mannered is not a good look but I guess people behave in the manner they can get away with. It’s good to see people making the most of their tenuous authority. It says so much.

In London we go to yet another hotel up in the West End. It’s very cozy although Nikolai’s room has a lamp that doesn’t seem to light anywhere. Everyone scatters for the evening – more or less. Julian goes to eat at a French Restaurant. Ryan and Albert go to play in a poker tournament. (Ryan loses but comes back to the hotel and makes up for it by winning in an online tournament. I’d have just spent the money on shoes, myself. You know what you’re getting with a good pair of shoes. And it’s exciting. No really, it is…buying shoes is damn exciting).

Fab and I go to eat and settle on a nice little Italian cafe just along from the hotel. Nikolai walks past and comes in to join us and soon we’re all enjoying an early supper and comparing gripes – of which we can all find many. (On a side note: Does anyone know why the Pound sign and the dollar sign are the pound sign and the dollar sign and why so many symbols for money have two lines through them?) Fab talks about trying to keep your brain working on tour. The whole process of traveling and waiting to either travel or play a show isn’t very stimulating intellectually (See previous open-mouthed puzzlement over the etymology of currency symbols). While there’s always something going on and always some fun to be had it’s easy to grind through time and not get much done outside of the show. Not that that in itself is such a bad thing, but it’s not good to waste so much time. The windows we do find to relax or do something else are usually small, surprising pockets of time. Fab usually has a few art projects on the go at once and is always developing them – Nikolai reads a lot and plays a lot of music in his hotel rooms. In fact all of the band play a lot in their rooms.

Afterwards Fab and I go bag shopping – Fab’s looking for a backpack as his luggage has become just that bit too full, me for another bag because I keep buying clothes. Fortunately there’s a handy little bag store I remember on the end of Denmark St. and we’re sorted in no time.

I go to meet my friend Mick and we reminisce about the Miner’s Strike and how strange it is that Magaret Thatcher hasn’t been both tried for the sinking of the Belgrano and isn’t remembered as a traitor. It can’t all be work, work, work now, can it? You’ve got to have some laughs. Mick’s been looking after my shopping while I’ve been out of London. I think this is kind of him until I see that he’s been wearing everything and hasn’t washed it; even the socks. When he drops me back off at the hotel he drives off without giving me back the tenner he borrowed. All my friends owe me tenners. Maybe what Brian the Guitar tech’ tells me all the time is right: You don’t have any friends pal; you just know people.

The NME awards ceremony is a bit of a zoo, a very nice zoo but busy and chaotic none the less.
We wind our way to our table waving and saying hello to people. It’s funny walking through a room with The Strokes, you just seem to know more people. We sit down and wait for the awards to start. While people stop by the table to chat to the band I’m typing furiously on my blackberry trying to confirm flights and hotels for the American Tour, which starts in 6 days and which, at this point on Thursday evening, is still pretty much just a general concept rather than an organized entity. Our travel agent in New York sends me email after email about band flights and crew flights and band hotels and rooming lists and I’m trying to get it all done before everything starts. Suddenly someone taps me on my shoulder and I look up, still with a headful of hotel options in Austin. “Are you Gordon?”
“Sorry?”
“Are you Gordon?”
“No mate.”
“Oh, right. You look like Gordon. Is Gordon here?”
“No, there’s no Gordon here.”
“Oh, right. See you.”
And he saunters off, with possibly the coolest f***ing walk since Neil Armstrong’s.
Only then do I realise Ian Brown was talking about Gordon Raphael.

The band win their award and I scoot around the back of the stage to help shepherd them through the press scrum. Our press officer Tony is there too and so too is our plugger Dylan. It takes all three of us to wrangle them through the feral sea of journalists wanting to talk to them. It’s manic but good natured – except for one pissy photographer who got the hump because he had to wait for all five of them to finish other interviews before getting together to take a photo. That’s possibly why there’s no group shots of them in the Sun or the like. That and the fact that Sugababes probably are a bit better looking….

There, I said it.

(Between you and I, I get pissed of tip-toeing around the band and their paranoia about who’s better looking: The Strokes or the Sugababes. If I mention in passing that Mutya looks nice on Top of The Pops or that I liked Keisha’s hair in the Too Lost In You video then I barely get a civil word out of any of them for the rest of the day.)

On this tour Danny’s twice had photographers calling him to the edge of the pit before the show asking how long it’ll be until the band come on – usually because they’ve got another gig to go to. As if by hassling the security it’ll speed anything along. Everyone’s a f***ing pop star these days, it seems. I’m going to start going into dressing rooms on the next tour saying,” Guys, can you hurry it up a bit? I’d like to get you on ten minutes early because there’s this photographer down the front who’s on a meter and doesn’t want to have to go out to top it up…”)

They take a photo with The Artic Monkeys whom they met for the first time at our Hammersmith Apollo show. Jules and Albert chat to Kanye West. Kanye was very nice but he looked strangely bereft without his bevvie of golden lovelies around him, like seeing James Bond on a push-bike. I’m not surprised, it’s the kind of accessory a man would quickly learn to rely on. Like laudanum. We missed most of Dirty Pretty Things song but thankfully made it back to our seats in time to see the aesthetically superior Sugababes play You Look Good On The Dancefloor.

Aah, Keisha. Lovely.

I go backstage one last time to find Julian and to make sure he’s still not trapped in an interview that will never end when some bloke taps me on my arm. It’s dark and I can’t see who it is. He shakes my hand and says, “Hi. Excuse me, are you Gordon?”
“No. I’m not. He’s not here.” I feel rehearsed now so at least I’m not looking gormless (not that Ian Brown would worry about some missing Gorm, of that I’m sure).
“Oh sorry. But you’re sitting with them and you look a bit like him and so I thought…”
“Not to worry. But he’s not here.”
When I get back to my table I realize it was Ricky Kaiser Chief. Two for two. I’m on it today. Nice jacket, Ricky, btw.

Later Ricky reaches over to our table and plonks down a bottle of champagne that Nikolai opens in record time. A very nice man, a real gent.

Oh, and someone should have sat the Artic Monkeys nearer the front. I know they’re young and full of vim but for christ’s sake the poor sods had walk about twenty minutes each way to collect their awards.

After the awards Jarvis came over to say hello to everyone and then the announcement came over that the party was going to change over to include industry guests. We took our hint and grabbed our coats and went home. Thanks NME. The Dalek Biscuits were a nice touch, although they lost a little in translation. Still, we all liked Russell’s jokes.

At our hotel that night we had a little gathering. Albert played his i-tunes in the drawing room and Har Mar had a wrestling match. Gordon was there. I told him he should get on the phone – everyone wanted to talk to him. He said it was strange as he knew Ian Brown. Not so strange, I said.

Julian compared us and said that aside from our height and hair shape there weren’t too many similarities between us. Both Gordon and I looked politely relieved. No one wants a doppelganger, do they? Although I might have made some money out of it if I’d been quicker. I could have got myself a couple of remix jobs or something….

Went back to my room and the radio was so fucking loud I was convinced a Dojo of Ninjas was waiting in my closet. I went back downstairs to watch Har Mar wrestle some more. After the Ninjas it was strangely calming. And cheaper than pay TV.

New York City:

Big cheers when we land. we’ve been gone 4 weeks and five days and everyone’s excited to get home. The guy at customs gives me a hard time about my purchases until he realizes I’m a resident and he waves me through. I have the most luggage and when pushing it past Julian shook his head and murmered: “You are out of control.”

We get back to JFK and straight away Julian’s driver disappeared. It took us 10 minutes to find him again. After nearly five weeks on tour and a seven hour flight it’s the sort of stuff that could send a lesser man over the edge…

I knew I was back home when my driver told me:

The weather in New York was better than anywhere else ever, except when it was worse, then it was worse than anywhere else, ever. This is a given.

I also learned that a very famous Tennis player has a house in Barbados and when she goes there for Thanksgiving and Christmas she has to take a frozen turkey as they don’t sell turkeys down there.

And finally I was told that I shouldn’t try to look for a good girl in New York. If I want a good American girl then I should look for a Midwestern girl as they’re the best. He also told me that I need to get on with it and should stop wasting time and I should hurry up and start breeding. I told him I was going to tour America and he seemed relieved. Then he told me to sell my apartment so that I could move out west with the money as it would be worth more out there. How can you be mad at advice like that?

Look out Tulsa. We are coming.

wszystko przeczytałaś, bucie?

jeszcze nie.
to z Fabem i porzeczkami jest fajne;)

tego było jeszcze więcej, ale teraz nie mogę znaleźć.

fab i porzeczki, powiadasz?
jeszcze do tego nie doszłam.

olaboga!

chce się jeszcze komuś czytać?^^

Next, Wyclef sings—when he’s not busy placating the assembled mass of pugnacious Haitians—“She make a man wanna’ speak Spanish,” (And then, to prove a point, in Spanish)”What is your name, pretty? My house is your house.”
Shakira, replies with, “Ooh baby when you talk like that, you make a woman go mad.”
Ladies, tell me: is that really all it takes?
F*** me! I’ve been studying the Tang Poets in Mandarin in the hope of being able to pitch a little woo. I’ve definitely been overthinking things if you can say 'My house is your house' in Spanish and you pull Shakira…
There’s also a great line where she sings. “Oh boy, I can see your body moving, half animal, half man.” Manimal? Shakira likes Manimals?

Freaky.

Fab and I took Nick to the hospital to get his toe x-rayed as he thought he’d broken it. The hospital wasn’t busy but it took 3 1/2 hours to get processed. While sitting restlessly in one of several waiting areas Nick and Fab decided to form a new band. They found the name of the band on a portable X-ray machine: kiloVolt. (kV).
In the next waiting / examination room it took so long for the doctor to arrive that Nick and Fab started to examine each others ears and eyes with the medical equipment in the room - those little lights that doctors use to check-out your ears? The arm-band for blood pressure (Fab inflated it so much that Nick’s hand started to go blue before the Velcro strap gave out and the armband popped off Nick’s arm.)
When the doctor finally arrived—-about two minutes ahead of all of us experimenting with the pure oxygen feed line—-she seemed puzzled as to how all of her examination equipment seemed to be set incorrectly.
Nick was fine, he’d just bruised his foot badly. It took a long time to find out but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

Later that night, Fab, Nick, Matt, Nikolai and I went to go see V for Vendetta at the local I-Max. We stopped by Taco Cabana on the way and had the best Mexican fast-food ever. (we got lost looking for a proper Mexican restaurant although we did see—-and resist—-the neon glow of Zone d’ Erotica store by the interstate. We also passed a store called Janitor’s World. It’s a sad indictment that everyone was more vocal about Janitor’s World. I have to be honest though – Zone d’ Erotica could have been called Zone D’Skank and it would have seemed more appropriate.)

We stood in line for the movie, all excited and quite literally full of beans. Once seated Fab and Matt went to get candy and then we settled in. Two minutes before the movie started Nick spat out a milk dud and held it in his palm. “It’s not my day,” he said quietly. Sitting in the middle of the milk dud was Nick’s gold tooth.

gold tooth?:>

O_o nie jestem tak dobra w angielskim.. połowy nie zrozumiem :/

jaki richard?
nie czytałam wszystkiego, a może z kontekstu to wynika..

muminek napisał:

O_o nie jestem tak dobra w angielskim.. połowy nie zrozumiem :/

Ja też nie jestem w tym najlepsza.
Wydaje mi się, że gubie kontekst zdania.
Ale to Manimals mnie rozśmieszyło^^

dżagucha napisał:

jaki richard?
nie czytałam wszystkiego, a może z kontekstu to wynika..

richard- tour management