Lost in the Sand Dunes

Hey everyone, it’s Shane. Praise Buddah! We played a strange show last night at the Sand Dune Lounge in Santa Monica. Thing is, I don’t know what Abraxas Dakota, our hippie-dippy booking agent, was thinking. Oh have you never seen a picture of Abraxas? Here she is:

She’s an old friend of Joey’s, of course, because all Joey’s old friends are fucking weird, and we were all assured that she really knew what she was doing. She is a computer programmer over at Lockheed, so how could we go wrong? Now I’m beginning to wonder. The Sand Dune Lounge, it turns out, is a golf pro shop for Sand Dune Links. Yes, they have a, uh, lounge, but it’s cleary never used for music. Looks more like a place old people congregate. The tables are nailed down, and the walls are clay-colored and they don’t have a liquor license. We couldn’t even bring in our own beer! Darlo was not pleased, so he shot-gunned three Buds and then disappeared for load-in. Thanks asshole! There was no stage, and no monitors, and we played to six guys in Kelly Green pants and polo shirts, sipping virgin Mai Tai’s and wondering why their Saturday night little old boy’s club was getting ruined. Fucker’s just wanted to play gin rummy and talk about their time aboard the HMS-whatever in World War II. Anyway, after the show Darlo called Abraxas and left her a screaming-loud message on her cell. Called her every name in the book. Hopefully tonight’s show will be better. But to end on a good note, one of the old WW2 vets did tell us “you boys sounded like you really cared about what you are doing!” Praise Buddah!