Good morning

Good morning,
I'm in Plymouth, England,
on the ocean, overlooking
the coast, and the sun is shining,
which is weird for this country.

I got up last night in front
of approximately 300 English
people who have never heard of me,
at 1:30 in the morning.

I was playing at the White Rabbit,
and the guy who runs it is named Dan,
and he wants me to tell you more stories
about it.

so here's some stories.

I got up,
and there were two girls dancing
to the song that the very serious DJ
was playing before I went on.

I say very serious,
because she had a table
and everything.

DJs crack me up,
they get really into it.

A laptop plugged into
a stereo system is just
a guy playing music,

but a laptop on a stage,
on a big table, is a DJ, baby.

But the music was good,
I'll give her that,
and the girls were dancing,
they were the only ones
near the stage.

Everyone else was spread out
into this huge club, and drinking,
heavily, and cheaply.

It was "pound a pint" night.

Which means,
essentially,
two dollar drafts.

Not bad for a Friday.

The special started at midnight,
and ran until two am,
and the bar was open...

until 5.

I stayed until six.

I played at one thirty,
to the two girls in the front,
and I started singing about
"pound a pint" night.

I put it on the loop pedal,
"a pound a pint, a pound for jager,
it's a fucking cheap night for drinking"

It had a catchy little tune,
I looped it over and over,
and the girls kept dancing,
and started singing,
and seven lonely guys on the wall
took notice, and one smiled,
and some cool guys in the back
noticed that something interesting
was going on, and a guy named Ricky
jumped onstage with the tambourine,
and next thing you know,
I'm playing to a big crowd
right at the front of the stage,
laughing and dancing along.

It was that easy,
and it was awesome.

that might be my favorite
thing to do, convince a big,
fun group of people that I'm
worth listening to.

It doesn't work everytime,
especially in America.

I'm sorry, America,
it just doesn't.

I'm afraid I might rag on
the American's a lot.

But you know what I mean,
you must have felt it.

Like the Matrix,
there is something
you can tell isn't right
about the way we go out,
and the way we appreciate things,
and you are smart,
but that guy next to you
sure is a fucking dumbass.

Maybe I'm crazy,
but I just seem to go over
differently over here.

I had the bulk of the crowd
interested and listening by the end.

I'm not bragging,
I'm just proud and happy about it.

It feels good.

Ricky, on the tambourine,
he stayed up for most of the set.

He just did a good job,
just kept the beat going
and gave me something to play off.

He said to me afterwards,
"man... that was a rush"

yeah, it really is.

..
So then,
I smoked a joint with
a cool English guy
and talked philosophically.

then I smoked another joint
with a girl named Cat,
and her friend who's name
I didn't catch.

They were an interesting pair,
I'm pretty sure by the end of the night,
I told them, "look, I'd love to have sex with
both of you, but I can't have sex with either of you"

I had quite a bit to drink, and smoked two joints,
and I'm pretty certain that's exactly what I said.

I was completely unprompted,
and in retrospect,
pretty hilarious.

So now,
I'm awake,
surprisingly
unhungover...
and I'm on the coast,
and I get to do it all again tonight.

-p

-p