July 1 Church Vibez

We don’t really want to leave the womb of Alençon. Well, the contemplative artist in us doesn’t want to leave. The party band inside us want to get the hell out of Dodge. And so we shoot over to Orleans (pronounced oh lee owns) for the Campo Santo festival. In the ramp we park on Disco Centaur level, which means tonight will get rad.


The poster outside our dressing room confirms it.

It’s a sauna inside our dressing room. It's the type of gooey heat that infiltrates your body. Zach and I can’t stop eating little frozen candy bars. Bounties and Mars and Lion funsize bars, they’re just so good cold. Every time I watch Zach open another one I think about the scene in Tommy Boy when Chris Farley squirts ketchup directly into his mouth. And then I open another candy bar myself.

While BBE gets interviewed in the sauna, I wander around the site. The festival is held in the shadow of the adjacent cathedral. I wish Sunn 0))) was headlining.

I wandered back into the dressing room to see what the band was up to and made a grave mistake. They look like Pringles, they smell like Pringles. They taste like life is getting sucked out of you.

Ghinzu, tagged by BBE.

At some point, Zach signs a dude's rolling papers. The next time some asks the band to sign something ridiculous, I'm going to suggest the person at least present a cheeseburger or a stray cat. Those kinds of things would be way cooler to sign.

As everything wraps up, we make it up a craggly stone road to our hotel. It's called the Jackotel, a proudly advertises it's a two star hotel on it's gate. The place smells like it’s run by old ladies that know how to clean with vinager and musk, but not bake fresh bread. The old, cute man at the front desk speaks no English, and tries to only give us one room for the five of us. After a bit of grunting back and forth, we reach an understanding, get our three rooms, and get to internetting/passing out.