September 25, 2007
Black Rock Desert
It’s 8:16pm in the Black Rock Saloon in Gerlach, Nevada. We all just ate, at least. Thankfully. Lining for the stomach. Dukey and Charlie and Vaughn and Party Guy and Fraser are holding court behind the bar at the Crack Rock, already shirtless and/or partially de-pantsed.
Dollar bills and cigarettes are tucked neatly in thongs. These men are bouncing their junk and molesting incoming customers and crawling around on the bar like strippers. They’re calling it ‘Coyote Icky.’
Dr. Dre is thumping on the sound system — no wait, now it’s Lionel Richie — and bow ties are being paired with hotpants and old lady wigs. There’s an electricity in the air that says: Someone is going to puke tonight. (Wait, now it’s Culture Club.) All we can do is feel sorry for whoever passes out with their boots on first.
UPDATE, NEXT MORNING: Please stand by.
Someone knocked over our computer in the Crack Rock last night after accidentally swallowing too much alcohol. Our DJ set came to an abrupt end, just at the start of the panic attack. We didn’t lose any data but now the thing won’t close and the charger doesn’t work, so we’ve only got 7 minutes left on the battery. We’d talk more about it but we lost our voice (again) singing along to Journey with everyone.
It was a full moon.
Gerlach High School girls’ volleyball game tonight. DPW is all invited. We’re not allowed to cuss or bring booze but we think it’ll be pretty great anyway.