All from exclaim.ca
Interesting views on intestinal functions…
“From Trevor Dunn
As far as tours go this is a luxury tour. Sure there are the insufferable, digestion-abating drives (20 hours from Hamilton to Winnipeg, 11 hours from Edmonton to Vancouver) and the desperate attempts at finding fresh fruit along these god-forsaken highways but all in all, I can’t complain. Believe it or not, The Melvins Group, their booking agent and crew are a lot smarter than they look. They have planned ahead, noting distance, calculating guarantees and, in general, considering the well-being of all involved. That’s not always how tours are managed. I’ve been pleasantly surprised on this trip by how often I’ve been able to achieve a decent night’s sleep, work out in the hotel fitness center and have time to call my wife. Based on how much I write about food she seems to think I should be a food critic. I told her, “well, I have to eat every day, so it’s a relevant topic.” She responded with, “Yeah, but you have to shit every day, too, so why don’t you write about that?”
Ok, here it goes: I took three shits today. Now that is unheard of while on tour. I will spare you the details but I can only guess that it has something to do with doing 100 sit-ups and eating raw vegetables backstage. Our hospitality rider consists of water, one of those “pre-washed” vegi-packages and a few beers. We don’t bother with sandwich meat, candy bars, cheeses, bottles of whiskey, loaves of bread or potato chips. Contrary to popular belief the stuff bands get backstage is not free. We’re paying for it. Nothing is for free, you dumb-ass. Most bands get blind-sided by the potential glory and glamour of being treated like god damn royalty. Guess what, you’re one of 365 bands that passes through this dive every year. No one gives a shit. I’ll take the extra money and go find a spinach salad in a restaurant. But I digress.
Back to shitting: Usually the desire reaches critical point in the morning right after I slam three cups of the “bold” coffee that’s been brewing in the hotel lobby for six hours. However, often on tour one is subject to abrupt and extreme changes that the body can only do it’s best to adapt to. The sedentary nature of traveling, the different time zones, inconsistent sleep patterns, and sporadic meal times all affect the decisions my stomach and intestines seem to make on their own. Yesterday in Calgary I had the not unfamiliar experience of needing to drop deuce about five minutes before sound-check. The protocol goes as follows: whenever possible use the women’s public stall before the venue doors open. They are usually more thoroughly sanitized than any of the other restrooms especially the one backstage which has most likely been defiled by rock and roll slobs in countless and unmentionable ways. In Saskatoon the backstage toilet didn’t even have a door, kind of like prison. I may be a heathen but I retain some self-respect. I have convinced myself that the seats in the women’s WC have been wiped down by hundreds of germophobic females who are only at the show because their drunk boyfriends forced them along. Nonetheless, I use about a roll and a half of paper to create my own makeshift seat cover. Afterward, I over-soap my hands under scalding hot water, avoid the virus-scattering blow dryer, kick the door open and do my victory strut like a half-wit German Shepherd on to the next thing. Pure luxury I tell you.”
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